


Ink Demon's Game

by Canadian_BuckBeaver



Series: Reader Inserts [4]
Category: BATKM, Batim - Fandom, Bendy and the Ink Machine, bendy and the kink machine
Genre: Anger, Angst, Ankle Cuffs, BATIM, BATKM - Freeform, Background information, Backstory, Barbed Penis, Be Careful What You Wish For, Bendy and the Kink Machine - Freeform, Bendy the Demon - Freeform, Bendy the ink demon - Freeform, Blind Character, Blindness, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, CHAPTER FOUR SPOILERS, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chapter Three Spoilers, Character Death, Chases, Claiming Bites, Dancing Demon, Daredevil mentions, Death, Decapitation, Demon Powers, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Diary/Journal, Evidence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flashbacks, Forced Bonding, Forced Orgasm, Foreshadowing, Game Theory, Graphic Description, Head Injury, Heavy Angst, Heavy Violence, Hunted, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Ink, Ink Demon, Judgement, Kidnapping, Love Bites, Major Character Injury, Major Character(s), Marvel - Freeform, Mating Bites, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Missing Persons, Murder Gang, Mystery, NSFW, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Second Person, Plot Devices, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader Has A Name, Revenge, Rough Body Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexy Times, Skeletons, Soul Bond, Sound Effects, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, The Butcher Gang - Freeform, Things aren't always as they appear, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tracking, University, Very Secret Diary, Violence, Wary, alice angel - Freeform, bendy x reader - Freeform, blood is ink, boris the wolf, carousel, cut outs have eyes, echolocation, foretold death, grandfather figure, he will set us free, ink demons - Freeform, limp, norman polk - Freeform, poor Boris, satanic rituals, so far only two people have guessed the huge plot twist, soul sealing, susie is a bitch, the projectionist - Freeform, the studio is larger than it appears, there are little hints everywhere, tunnels, wrong names for certain characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-01-07 14:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canadian_BuckBeaver/pseuds/Canadian_BuckBeaver
Summary: - CHAPTER THREE AND FOUR SPOILERS -Your father, against his better judgement, decided to go meet with Joey after so many years apart.  Now he's missing and many people are reluctant to do anything about it.  So you brave the old studio and find evidence of your father being there, but he's nowhere to be seen.  You must travel deeper into the studio, braving the errands of Angel, meet Boris and escape from the grasp of Bendy...All while trying to find your father.Good luck.  You'll be needing it.Just remember - this is where all your dreams come true





	1. Chapter One - Belly of the Beast

**Author's Note:**

> My first Bendy fanfic! Hopefully you guys enjoy!
> 
> If you like what I do, buy me a ko-fi or visit me on Tumblr if you are 18+ (Canadian-buckbeaver or InkDemonsGame)
> 
> Update: I HAVE FAN-ART!!!! THANK YOU TO THE AMAZING NIKKI-ON-EDGE AND SAIYURIMAI FOR THIS! CHECK IT OUT!!!!:  
> https://nikki-on-edge.tumblr.com/post/174157885557/ink-demons-game-another-fanart-for-precious
> 
> https://saiyurimai.tumblr.com/post/176792368041/ink-demons-game-fanart

You couldn’t help but take a deep sigh of relief as you stepped into the lift for what would be the last time, smiling at Boris.

 

Angel had you running all over her area of the studio, being her little errand girl for the day, as her last errand boy had mysteriously disappeared.  Part of you thought it was just a rouse as her list of to-do’s seemed scattered, random almost.  But you had never seen an angel, let alone an angel made of ink, so it was possible that she needed the ink for herself, to keep her decaying body in one piece.  The gears and power charges were confusing to you, why would a creature such as her want with them?  And those hearts… your hands itched thinking about the feel of them in your hands.  The slime and the texture.  Perhaps it was your imagination but one had faintly pulsed in your hand when you had picked it up.  No, you were glad that that was over with.  When you finally got out of here you were going to take the longest, hottest shower you could stand, scrubbing the ink from your pores till not a stain remained.  To do that, you needed to get out of this damned place first.  As Angel pondered about heaven and how she had always imagined it, you let your mind wander.

 

Her last errand boy… Angel had mentioned an errand boy before you… one that hadn’t returned to her chambers.

 

It was no accident that you were in the old, deserted studio.  You had come here looking for your father, Henry.  He had worked here, once upon a time, about thirty years ago he had said.  Before Joey had completely taken it over he had been one of the head animators, in charge of drawing out repetitive drawings for their cartoon, Bendy the Dancing Demon.  Thirty years ago, Henry and Joey had a disagreement and Henry had turned his back on the staff and crew, vowing never to set foot in there again.  And he hadn’t.  He had gotten a new job, married, and then had you.  A few days ago Joey had sent him a frantic message, telling him that he needed to show him something and he had left, promising you and your mother that he would be home in time for supper.

 

Supper had come and gone, and there was no sign of your father.

 

You had urged your mom to call the cops but she had refused.  She had wondered if he and Joey had gotten distracted, catching up over dinner and drinks, and then your father had neglected to call home and let everyone else know of his change in plans.  That excuse didn’t excuse the second day, nor did it explain the third…

 

You had tried calling the police yourself and they had promised to check it out.  When they got around to it.  Curse this town and it’s small crew of officers.  Oversight on the council’s part to cut funding for the officers.  ‘Nothing happens here, do we need a full taskforce?’ one had dared ask.

 

These thoughts were interrupted when the elevator stopped and shuddered.  That’s when you heard Angel’s maniacal laughter.  You knew that she was unhinged, slightly deranged but that crazy?  She was a cartoon character, you chided yourself, anything was possible with them.

 

Boris looked at you, the pupils of his eyes possibly round with fear, you couldn’t quite tell with him.

 

The lift dropped like a stone.  Boris covered his head, shaking like a leaf.  You left to grip to the sides of elevator, praying that the cable would catch, that you would be safe, that you would survive this fall.

 

But with old style elevators, they just don’t have the same safety mechanisms as modern day ones.

 

As Angel screamed about taking Boris, you somehow moved closer to him.  You wouldn’t allow that monster to take him.  Boris had shown you nothing but kindness.  He had walked you through the twists and turns of the tunnels, opened the locked doors, and had even shown you the safe rooms.  No, he would be protected.  Boris would not meet the same fate as those other Borises in her little experimentation and torture room.

 

Before you could promise Boris anything, the elevator finally crashed.  The momentum causing you to hit your head on the metal bars, before falling to the ground.  The last vision you saw before the world turned dark was one of your father, smiling down at you.

 

When you finally came to, Boris was shaking you gently, trying to wake you.  Your head throbbed, and your vision swam.  Why was it so hard to concentrate?  Where were you?

 

Boris still shook you gently, mutely pleading for you to wake, get up, and continue your journey.  That’s when the shadow started to approach the two of you, slowly, stealthy, as if they didn’t want to be seen or heard.

 

Angel.

 

You tried to say something, but your traitorous body was too weak to do anything.  Your mouth gaped like a fish, no words escaping, and your eyes still swam with darkness and stars.

 

When you were next aware, Boris was reaching out to you, almost pleadingly, as Angel jerked him back.  Down to her cave of horrors… of death.

 

You tried to rise again but, instead you succumbed to the darkness, completely helpless.

 

Many hours passed before your eyes opened again.  Your body was completely battered and bruised, your clothes coated in ink.  Your skull throbbed in tune with your heartbeat and your back was stiff.

 

Where… where was Boris?  He had been in front of you, shaking you.  Or was he in the elevator?  Waiting for you to finish your errands and return to him?

 

Piece by piece your memories and anger slowly returned.  Angel, heh someone had a cruel sense of humour in naming her that… you remembered seeing the evil angel behind him now, jerking him off his feet and away from you.

 

No time for rest.  Both Boris and your father needed you.

 

As quick as you could you pulled yourself to your feet, forcing yourself up and preparing to move.  You swayed, your injuries still very much affecting you and your sense of balance, causing you to grip the wall and handrail in the search for relief.  You pushed onward. Eventually your body became used to the pain and the abuse, and you were able to ignore the stars and impending darkness in your peripheral vision.

 

In all her glory, Angel had not considered her ‘heavenly’ footprints on the hardwood floor, nor had she thought of the long smears caused by Boris, probably where he had struggled to get free.  A perfect trail, waiting for you to follow.

 

A sense of justice filled you and you started to follow the tracks down to her cavern again.  It became a mantra in your mind.  “Boris will not end up like them.  Boris will not end up like them.  BORIS WILL NOT END UP LIKE THEM.”  So deep in your thoughts you didn’t realize when the room around you began to darken, the lights dampening, and the living ink began to infiltrate the room.  The very wood of the walls and roof, was saturated to the point of ink dripping through the sodden boards, the blackness slowly becoming absolute, but you still didn’t notice, your mind consumed with the thought of your father and Boris.

 

It wasn’t until you heard the scream behind you that you slowly turned around.

 

The Demon Bendy, coming straight for you, an ugly snarl on its face, and two arms outstretched to grab.

 

You screamed before running off, ink splashing up and around your shoes.  How could you be so careless?  But there was no time for that.  “Hide, hide, hide…” you muttered as you ran through endless hallways, cutting corners and running down and up stairs, desperately trying to lose him.

 

As if someone was looking out for you, there was a safe zone around the next corner.

 

You almost threw yourself inside the little house, clicking the door shut behind you.  There was a narrow slot where you could see through, and luckily all you could see was the expense of the hallway, and one of those Bendy cut outs.  You must have managed to get some distance between you and the demon but you already knew that it wasn’t enough… it was never enough.  You clamped your hand around your mouth to stifle the sounds of your breathing as you tried to stop your body from shaking so much.  Your knees were shaking, teeth were chattering and your spine, had it not been aching from the fall, it too would have been swaying like a reed in a storm.

 

As you watched the lumbering giant walked slowly up the hallway.  You just realized that ink seemed to be flowing into his eyes, blinding him.  For a moment you felt a peak of elation – a weak point! – but you already knew that he could hear you, and possibly feel the vibrations of the studio.  How else could he had found you so fast so many times before?

 

Bendy approached the little house, he was whispering something.  “Come on out little treat… I know you’re there…. don’t you want to dance with a demon?” A shiver ran up your spine.  He sounded exactly like the Bendy on the cartoons.  This Bendy was a lot larger, even making Boris look like a lap dog.

 

He was still speaking, singing.  “Don’t you want to play with me?  All this chasing… I thought you liked tag!” He laughed, in a low, rumbling tone, reminding you of a truck’s breaks.

 

“Do you like my cut outs little one?  Angel doesn’t, that’s why she had you destroy them.  I bet she never told you why though.  I’ll let you on a little secret~” he had turned towards the safe house suddenly, the grin becoming wider, the teeth turning from rectangles to jagged triangles.

 

“She doesn’t like it that I have a set of eyes, everywhere you turn.”

 

Wait…

 

WHAT?

 

The door to the safe house was thrown open and a dark, dripping hand grasped your throat before you had a chance to scream or beg.  He lifted you effortlessly from the house, grinning as your hands fruitlessly pounded on his large one.  Tears already were dripping down your face…

 

Was this how you were going to die?  At the hands of the cartoon character?

 

“There you are little treat~ Let’s have some fun, hmm?” he asked you.


	2. Chapter Two - Show Time! - Explicit and NSFW + Non-Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have been captured by Bendy as you tried to rescue Boris and your father from the hell that is this studio. He's carrying you off, somewhere, deeper into the belly of the beast...
> 
> NON-CON WARNING

Your head was still steadily pounding from the fall in the elevator, darkness threatening to overwhelm you at a moment’s notice.  A dark fog continued to close around your eyes but you always blinked it back, desperate to stay awake.  If you fell asleep you would die.  Simple as that.  You needed to be vigilant, watch for your chance to escape… The faces of Boris and your dad flashed through your mind.  How could you, even for ever so briefly, forget about them?  You felt ashamed.  You may have been chased and captured by a giant ink demon but that was no excuse.  You had your ‘mission’…

  
But Bendy wouldn’t be making this easy on you.  The ink demon had a tight grip on you by your leg as he dragged you along the ink sodden floor.  You supposed that this new position was a slight improvement to being carried over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  At least now you had a chance at escaping him or this hell.  A very, small chance.  For being made entirely out of ink, Bendy was surprisingly strong.  His fingers tightened around your leg as you continued to kick and squirm.  If he wanted a fight he was going to get one.  Your fingers dragged uselessly on the smooth wood floors, the ink making them even slicker and your grip useless.  There had to be something.  A hole in the boards, a roughened edge that you could grab onto… this studio was over thirty years old, there had to be a weakness to it!

  
The demon was moving quickly.  He ignored the other ink creatures appearing around him, their curious eyes or noises.  He simply moved through or around them like they didn’t exist.

  
Learning that your voice and pleas fell upon dead ears, you began to study the massive creature.  For being so tall he was moving quite silently, not a creak to the floor was heard, not even a drip was heard from the drops of ink from his face.  No wonder he was able to sneak up on you so easily.  This demon could train an assassin to hunt, an owl to fly silent…

  
You noticed that his ink wasn’t pure black as you had first thought either.  As you passed through the small, flickering and weak lights you picked up on small, minute, hints of blue and green, giving his body a look of greater depth, a better sheen to it.  Sure he was still a tall, lanky and a total dripping mess, but he also had the hints of some humanoid features to it.  There was the additional curves to the major muscles of his body that caught your eye in particular.  His chest in particular was like someone had spent a long time in designing.  The front was split into two, curves, definite pecs, as it trailed down to his stomach…

  
WHY THE HELL WERE YOU CHECKING OUT HIS BODY?

  
Bendy had pulled you back up to the ground floor, the level that you had first entered the studio.  Back when you were still naïve, believing that you could march in there and grab your dad and escape without a single problem.  How many lifetimes was that ago?  Before Alice, the so-called Angel of this mess, before Boris…

  
You really were in a pickle, weren’t you?  You pulled at your leg, trying to test his grip.  Perhaps with you laying complacent his grip had slackened... and no luck.  It was just as firm as ever.

  
Hell, how many floors had you traveled?  You lost track as you had fallen down the hole your dad had made, walking up and down the music department, the toy factory and then doing Angel’s errands.  Your dad had always mentioned the studio being a single level house with a small basement that they had used for storage and for the infirmary.  Just the bare basics for a company starting out.  A once hopeful and bright dream….

  
Bendy turned again down a different hallway, one that had been locked from you when you had first entered, murmuring something to himself as he walked.  Your ears pricked as you caught some of those disgusting words.  “My treat… I’ve caught a tasty morsel… oh yes… I will enjoy my offering…”

  
He was definitely talking about you.  Enjoy you?  Tasty morsel?  You imagined the old, stereotypical scenes of sacrifice that you had seen on TV.  A roaring fire, a disgusting place lined with skulls and broken bones, the marrow cleaned out by hungry scavengers, bugs everywhere…

  
Ok. You were making yourself sick.  You needed to concentrate.  There had to be a hole in his defense.  No one was immortal, no one was all-powerful.  Angel had her vanity.  Your dad was bull-headed and impulsive…

  
You were startled from your thoughts as Bendy tossed you, still by the leg, into a room.  You squeaked as you tumbled, attempting to find purchase with your hands and feet, but finally falling against something soft…

  
Looking around you saw that, like every other inch in the studio, there were posters everywhere on the better days of the production company.  Various Bendy the Dancing Demon posters, Alice Angels and Boris the Wolf all smiled and waved down at you.  There was Bendy merchandise covering every nock and cranny.  Bendy dolls stared down at you with their sweet, innocent faces, making you want to burn and destroy them all.  They were so far from what was the truth…

  
Bendy gently wrapped his hands around your waist and picked you up, causing you to panic and wiggle, desperate to get free.  He paid no heed to your struggles, instead he continued to lift you until you were held at arm’s length from him, face to face.  You stared into that inky face, watching the ink slowly drip down the once white or yellow cartoon face, his dark tongue licking his sharpened fangs.

  
“My sweet treat…” he whispered, pulling your body towards him.

  
You shrieked, punching his arms and kicking out at him.  This wouldn’t be the way you died! You couldn’t imagine facing the other people of the underworld and telling him the stories of how you perished.  There would be a guy named Adam who got hit by a car while trying to save a baby in a stroller.  Perhaps a man named Jeff who got stabbed by his jealous ex-lover.  And there was always a Gertrude that lived to the ripe old age of ninety-one and passed away in her sleep.  Then you.  “Yeah, I got eaten by an ink demon.”

  
Your hits may have been nothing more that grass rubbing against a rock.  Bendy ignored them, still bringing your body to his, pushing your head to the side and exposing your neck.  You whimpered and closed your eyes, preparing for the pain…

  
His teeth did come but, when they bit against your flesh, they were soft and careful, causing just enough pressure to be… pleasurable?  The energy zinged down your veins and into your heart, causing it to stutter in your chest.  You gasped and shivered, your body going limp with shock.  There was a warm liquid slowly drizzling down your neck and arm… for a moment you feared it was blood.  Your eyes flashed down to your hand, watching the drip of dark liquid slowly creep from under your sleeve and down your fingers.  The liquid was dark but not red.

  
Ink… Ink not blood.  A flash of relief flashed through your mind for a second.  But only for a second.

  
Something warm, wet and flexible pressed against the bite mark, tracing where you assumed the marks left by his teeth would be.  You shuddered and turned your gaze to him, eyes widening.  That long, black tongue, the very one that you had briefly seen before, was retreating back between his teeth.  You couldn’t help it.  You stared at him, at that tongue…

  
He had said when he captured you about dancing with a demon… surely… surely he didn’t mean…

  
“Sugar…” he whispered to your ear, a small, almost teasing, growl to his voice.

  
You shuddered violently at the tone in his voice.  Oh… Oh God no…

  
A single finger found the hem of your shirt and lifted it slightly, beginning to tenderly rub at the flesh of your ribs and the swell of your hips, all while still keeping you secure in the air.  At his complete mercy.  Why was this guy so strong?

  
The wind was driven from your body as you were just as suddenly dropped to the ground.  There was no pain, just the surprise whoosh of your lungs as you fell on top of the soft thing that you were tossed against when you first entered this room.  Paper, bits of cloth and fabric, maybe even some jackets and cloth… this must be Bendy’s nest.  What he used to sleep in.

  
He hovered over you, his large body dwarfing yours.  This angle darkened his face even further, giving him a more sinister appearance.  One truly fitting for a demon.  Surprisingly, this made his eyes visible to you for one of the first times.  They were completely hidden by the great streams ink of his hairline… or was it hornline?  But, in this position they sparkled ever so slightly.  You gulped.  They looked so empty, captured, for an eternity, in that overjoyed, cartoon style.

  
A hand returned to your ribs, softly stroking and circling the skin and nerves.  He seemed to know exactly what he was doing… “Hey!” you finally find your voice.  “No!  I’m not down for this!”  He paid no mind to you, he just continued to stroke your ribs before traveling across your stomach to stroke at the soft skin there.  “I said no, you fucker…!” as you went to sit up, Bendy leaned forward, capturing your neck with his teeth again and softly biting down again.  As your body raced to process what exactly was happening, his tongue licked across your jawline, causing your neck to lurch back.  Exposing it even more to the monster.

  
The demon chuckle, the voice echoing in your ears.  “Don’t try to lie to me treat.  Your mouth says no, but your body is very much saying yes.  Especially to my tongue.  Isn’t that right?” His thumb firmly pressed against your jeans, pressing up your feminine slit.  Your warm and damp feminine slit.  You shrieked, your face flushing, before trying to press your thighs together.

  
Your body indeed was your traitor.  It was reacting to Bendy’s soft and gentle touches, his tongue and teeth…

  
And you had no idea why.

  
A dark hand reached to the front of your jeans, ripping them and your panties from you in a smooth, almost practiced movement, and tossing them behind him.  You had no time to react as his finger was on you again in a moment.  His thumb was dragging through your folds, collecting your fluids on the pad.  Hands flying backwards, you attempted to scramble backwards, get some distance between the two of you and then get the fuck out.  This wasn’t happening….

  
The other hand found your throat and pressed you down onto the nest again, trapping you under his body.  Trapping you to his fingers.

  
“Nu uh huh…” he said, his thumb gently circling on your nub as a finger gently traced your entrance.  “You don’t want to escape this part, little treat.  I’ll make sure that you enjoy this.”  You squeaked as the very tip of his finger penetrated you, causing you to wiggle more against him.  Trying to shake him.  You needed to fight, escape, find Boris and your dad and then burn this fucking place to the goddamned ground…

  
You shrieked as both his hands gripped your hips, angling you upward, causing you to become unbalanced.  Making you land once again on your back.  You glared up at him as he gently squeezed your thighs and ass.  “So nice sweets,” he said, tongue lashing at his teeth, “how did you try to hide this from me?”  Before you could respond he leaned back down to you, tongue exposed, licking up your core.

  
Screaming, you struck out with your hands, trying to stop this.  No no no no no…

  
Bendy only opened his mouth winder, and licked up your folds again, tongue snapping against your nub, before his tongue returned to your wet entrance.  The appendage entered slowly, spinning deep inside of you, thrusting gently.  Despite yourself a small groan escaped your mouth, your hits weakening. 

  
His tongue began to pick up speed and strength, paying close attention to the spots that made you wither and shiver.  He seemed to feel the areas that made your thighs shudder and weak.  You couldn’t help it, you were a slave to your body after all.  Your head fell back against his nest, your hands gently gripping his head, encouraging him closer…

  
All thoughts of your father or Boris had temporarily escaped your mind.  All that mattered was Bendy and that talented tongue of his…

  
His thumb returned again to your nub, gently rubbing soft circles against it as his tongue continued to drive into you.  You could feel every slick bit of him, every bump of his taste buds as they twisted inside your secret channel…

  
Bendy growled against you before his thumb and finger pinched your clit, frim but gently.

  
You couldn’t hold out anymore.  You screamed, tightened your thighs around him and came.  You could feel him hungrily lapping up your juices and it made you flush with embarrassment and shame… how… how had that just happened?

  
There was a dark chuckle as Bendy pulled back away from you.  His tongue was still licking at his teeth, but licking them clean of your cum and juices.  “I promised you treat that I would make you feel good~” he sang, dropping a swift kiss on your stomach.

  
A groan was your only response.  Your body was racked with shivers, energy still pulsing through you, your arms and legs weak and resembling jelly… but ink covered them.  Everywhere that Bendy had licked, stroked or touched was covered in ink…

  
Bendy smirked and waved a hand over his groin, a large barbed cock springing into being before your eyes.  “The power of creation,” Bendy said in answer to your unasked question.  “Now,” he pulled you close, the very tip of his penis pressing against your entrance.  “Ready, treat?  I’m not tired yet…  I still have enough in me for another round.”


	3. Chapter Three - The Main Event - NSFW + Non-Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bendy has made his intentions very clear with you. How do you fight against something such as the likes of him?
> 
> Spoiler: You don't.
> 
> -NON-CON WARNING-

 

You couldn’t say anything to Bendy as he presented himself to you… only silently stare up at the disgusting, oozing creature.  How… how could this be happening?  How had your life changed so much, in the short, little time that it had taken you to enter the little shack?  Never… never would you have guessed this happening to you in a million years… it was always someone else in the news, someone who hadn’t watched their drink or went down the wrong alleyway, but this kind of thing always happened to someone else!

  
But now…. now it was happening to you… and you were powerless to stop him.

  
“No…” you whispered, pleading softly, your body still too weak to fight him.  You pushed weakly against his chest and what you thought was his neck, desperate to push him back, push his body off of you.  It was like pushing against a mountain, he was completely immoveable, even as he continued to push back against you.  Pushing you to lie down.  Your heart and insides went cold when you withdrew your hands, giving in and laying back against the soft cloth.  Giving up and surrendering to him, thinking of other things.  Perhaps this was just an illusion from the elevator ride.  Or perhaps, if you relaxed you wouldn’t tear or it wouldn’t hurt as bad.  . Instead of fighting you chose to pray.  Pray that it would be quick and painless, that you wouldn’t become with child.  Shit… could you even become pregnant from him?  Fighting was hopeless anyways.  He had already proven himself stronger than you.  Stronger and willing to use force to take what he wanted…

  
Tears filled your eyes as you looked up into the demon’s face.  There was no feeling of remorse or concern there, just the same stupid grin that had hunted you through the studio, the grin that peeked out on every cut out, every poster and doll…

  
You hated that grin… self-centred and selfish… that’s what the grin said to you.  He was a true demon with the front of an innocent cartoon.

  
Bendy ignored your thoughts of hatred, instead only smiling as you lay down under him.  Surrendering yourself to him… giving yourself to him.  He nuzzled under your chin, leaving little tendrils of ink connecting your chin to his face.  Connecting you two… “I knew that my little prize would come around~” he sang, his fingers beginning to touch the rest of your body.  Fingers touching the inside of your arms, tracing them down to your front, and slowly feeling your breasts.  Pressing slightly against your stomach before gripping slightly at your hips.  His hands moved slowly and carefully, stroking and tracing every inch of your body, leaving little trails of ink all of your clothes and skin.  He moved carefully, like a lover, as if he was memorizing your curves and the feel of you.

  
You shivered at the invasion, biting your lip to keep from crying out, but he only understood it as pleasure.

  
“No need to be quiet pet, I want to hear every noise that you make.”  He smirked again, and sat back, again proudly exposing his member to you.  A large, bulbous head, barbs that lined the underside of the shaft and… fuck was that a knot?  The shaft itself was thick and long, if you had grasped it, you bet that you would barely grasp it with one hand.  He was built like a fucking horse!  You began to hyperventilate in fear.  Bendy was going to rape you and most definitely hurt you… and that was excluding whatever the sick fuck had planned for afterwards.  Would he kill you?  Would he…?

  
A hand grabbed your shoulder as a finger tipped your head up, exposing the ink-marked skin of your neck.  You groaned as you felt his warm tongue lick your flesh, the ink coating your skin.

  
“Shhh pet… calm down… it’ll do you no good if you continue to work yourself up like this.”  The demon said, a thumb on your cheek, pressing in gently.  You concentrated on the slight pain it caused, bringing you back to the painful present… back to Bendy…

  
Well at least your vision wasn’t going dark anymore.

  
“After all kitten, I prepared you already.  You’ll take my cock so very nicely… you have nothing to worry about.”  There was a slight chuckle from the demon and the grin seemed to stretch even wider on his face.

  
There was no time to ponder what double meaning that could have.  His hands flew to the hem of your shirt, stripping you of its sheer protection.  As your arms went to automatically cover yourself, shield yourself from his gaze and touch, he firmly gripped your hips.  With a quick jerk of his hands he jerked your body back down to bed, angling himself up with your entrance…

  
You quickly closed your eyes and looked the other way, perhaps towards the doorway.  Don’t look you told yourself…. It’s not real if you don’t see it happening, it’s not real if you don’t see it happen.

  
But you could still feel it…

  
As his tip breached you, you could already feel your body stretching to accommodate him.  He was much thicker than his tongue.  You grimaced as he slowly began to slide into you. For all his “preparation”, there was no real preparation for his width and length.  It seemed endless.  Inch by inch he gave you, your core already strained to its limits…

  
The barbs scratched along your most intimate flesh.  You supposed that if you were consenting and truly “ready” for him that they would have felt amazing brushing against your walls, stroking those hidden bundles of nerves…

  
You gasped as you felt him bottom out against your cervix, his balls brushing against you.  “What a good, sweet treat,” the voice cooed.  “You took my entire length… I wasn’t even sure that was possible,” he chuckled.  You whimpered slightly, little tears gathering in your eyes but you kept them firmly shut.  Suddenly Bendy snapped his hips, before your body was truly prepared for him.  The feeling of your burning, expanding tunnel, and those barbs scraping inside of you caused your eyes to fly open, looking up at your captor.  That cocky devilish grinned stared down at you, his mess of a face slowly dripping on and around you, coating everything with his dark ink.  “I may keep you after all~” he sang.

  
He bit your throat, hard, before pulling out and slamming in again.  You shrieked, grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilize yourself.  The little bits and pieces of his nest wouldn’t give you the strength you needed to withstand his thrusts.  You gripped tightly to the inky shoulders as he began to find a fast, steady pace, pressing you deeper into his nest, trapping you against himself.  The head of the cock caused your pussy to tremble and shiver, clench around the thick cock, heightening the sensations.

  
“So tight… so wet… so perfect…” Bendy sang as his hips moved as pistons, steadily driving into you.  “Mine.”

  
Wait… mine?  He said mine?  You knew from the stories that you used to read that demons, along with being jackasses, were highly possessive what they considered to belong to them.  If… if Bendy considered that you belonged to him…

  
Well everything suddenly became a lot more complicated.

  
You gasped as Bendy pulled back away from you, losing the warm pressure to the front of your body.  He loosed a small growl and he pulled himself out of you with a large pop.

  
Before you could register the embarrassment of your slick running down your leg, Bendy gripped you by the leg and flipped you over, causing you to land to your stomach with a hard thud, knocking the wind out you.

  
Deep breathes…. You told yourself… deep breathes…

  
Hands gripped your hips and pulled your lower body up, high off the nest.  You squealed at the loss of your footing.  You scrambled for purchase, your hands clawing at the nest desperately, settling your weight on your forearms…

  
“Well pet, if you really want me to do all the work than I’m going to need to make this easier on me.” Bendy whispered to your ear, hovering over you, once again.

  
This time there was no slow and careful slide in.  Bendy slammed himself home, ignoring your small scream.  “I feel much bigger and thicker like that, don’t I?” he asked as he took your hands in one of his, pinning you down.  Fully trapping you.

  
His pace was even faster and more punishing than before.  Your body wailed and shook with the violence of his thrusts as he panted above you, growling and groaning like a dog in heat.  He kept talking to you, even as you tried to block it out.  He kept declaring you his and his alone.  How perfect you were, how special…

  
How he would take such care of you after you were done…

  
You supposed that you should have been panicked, worried even, but, at the time, you could barely hear him.  Amongst the noise of his pants and the sound of his balls slapping, you were fully aware of your own, unconscious noises.  Whimpers and whines, crying out occasionally, all which were unintentional.

  
His barbs… well now you could see and feel why he was so proud of them.  They were able to find those secret areas inside of you, ones that you were not aware of… making you even wetter for him.  You were so ashamed of your body’s traitorous response to him.  No!  You didn’t want this… You didn’t want this!

  
Inky hands seized your arms again, and pulled them roughly back, back to the giant demon.  “Ah yes, this is much better.” Growled Bendy, snarling and panting his pleasure as he continued to thrust violently into you.  In this position he was able to thrust even faster, angle his hips in a certain area…

  
You groaned quietly.  His barbs had found your swollen and sensitive clit… despite yourself, despite what was happening, little tingles of pleasure were working their way through your body.  You never hated your body more than this moment…

  
There was a change with Bendy.  His thrusts were becoming more erratic, harder and more out of control.  Was he about to orgasm?

  
“Wait!  Not inside!  Not inside!” you said quickly, just as he fully sat on the bed, hilting you completely on him and sheathing himself.  You screamed, feeling your canal fill with his cum?  Ink?  You weren’t sure what.  But the bastard wasn’t done yet.  As he continued to fill you, the knot at the base of his penis swelled inside of you, plugging you and sealing his mess deep inside of you.  

  
His release triggered your own, a series of shudders running through your body as you trembled on his lap, whimpering and quietly crying. 

  
A large head hovered over you, an odd humming noise escaping from the chest.  “Hush kitten,” he said, wiping your tears.  “I told you that you would be fine.  You took everything so well… do you like the feeling of me impaling you?  Filling you with my cum?” he asked, biting at your neck again, growling teasingly into your ear.  “You must have.  I can feel your slime coating mine… what a dirty girl.  You enjoy being taken in my workshop?”  Bendy chuckled.  “What will the others think?  After all, I’ve truly left my mark on you.” A finger traced your neck, causing you to hiss in pain.  Raw and fresh wounds dotted your neck and shoulders… his bite marks?

  
You shuddered and shook, but could not say a word.  You did not trust what would come out of your mouth next.  What had you and your father gotten yourself into?

  
Bendy shifted, causing you to yelp and clutch at him.  You were still attached by his knot, tied to him until his body showed the slightest mercy to you and shrank the knot.  You both were lying on your sides on his nest, his hands coming underneath you to trap you against him, preventing any form of escape, pulling himself tight against you.  “We’ll be tied together for a while, pet,” Bendy said, nuzzling against the top of your scalp.  “Might as well get some shut eye while we wait.  After all, you’re going to need your energy~” He said, kissing your hair before he settled against you.  “Don’t worry about the others.  They won’t bother you as long as I’m with you.”  He yawned and finally fell silent.   His chest was soon steadily rising and falling, peacefully fast asleep.

  
Silent tears filled your eyes as you cried, careful not to wake him as you cried.  Where was your dad or even Boris as you needed them?

  
Despite everything, far too much had happened in the day to stay awake for much longer.  You too fell asleep, little tears still escaping your eyes as you slept.


	4. Chapter Four - Inter-mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are officially Bendy's prisoner in this dark, damned studio. He has claimed you as his own, regardless of the consequences. But you haven't forgotten your missions, and they haven't forgotten you. They decide to drop by and give you a reminder of what is at stake should you fail.
> 
> *Reader's name is mentioned in this chapter*

   
You were walking down an empty, deserted path, one that was completely quiet and abandoned.  One that you were sure that you had never seen before… though it would be easier to tell if you could see.  Why… Why was everything so dark?  Your eyes flickered uselessly, trying to adapt and change to the complete darkness.  It was no use however.  The darkness was absolute, completely dark, causing your insides to go cold with dread and fear.  Who knew what lay in wait in that darkness?  But yet, even as your guts screamed at you to stop moving you couldn’t.  Your legs continued to move you forward, towards the imaginary danger that you were sure lurked in its depths…

It was probably for the best that you kept moving anyways.

First things first.  Where were you, exactly?  You had no idea where you were.  Even in the darkness you couldn’t sense a single hint at a familiar landmark.  Not a familiar turn or rock in the path.  How odd.  And here you thought that you knew this town pretty well in the X amount of years you and your family lived here.  It was a small town after all, nothing had changed since long before you were conceived.  It was a small town, one that never changed, timeless.  You thought that nothing could surprise you anymore.  You chuckled at the thought, a tiny echo of something related to the thought blinking in your mind before it died and faded away.  Oh well.  Must not have been very important.

Just… just keep moving forward.  You’ll get there, wherever and whatever that was, eventually… and the danger will pass eventually.

You peered through the darkness, darker and blacker than any night that you had currently experienced.  Not the moon or stars were out tonight… as if they were hiding from something…  Or perhaps they were hiding from someone?  There were many myths about nights such as these.  How they tried to hide from evil to remain pure.

You shook your head, removing any ridiculous thoughts from your brain.  Those thoughts should have vanished a long time ago.  You weren’t a child anymore.  You were too old for this creepiness, especially for the old urban legends.  Now was not the time to creep yourself out, especially since you currently had no idea where you were.

Just… you had to get home.  Get home and see Dad.  That’s all you knew… that’s all that mattered.  Dad… your mom… and your dog Boris.  Your family…  Blindly you started walking again.  You couldn’t see anything in front of you, not a sound was heard.  Deaf and blind were not a good combination.

You slowly made your way forward, a hand outstretched, desperate to feel anything. Anything that could help guide your way…

As soon as you were sure that you were walking in circles was when suddenly blinding light surrounded you, instantly blinding you.  Like someone flipped the switch…  You covered your eyes, trying to shield yourself from the harsh light.  Just as the darkness was blinding, as was this new light.  Like you were staring into the face of the sun, the after burn was evn imprinted into your retina. 

There seemed to be no adapting the harsh light.

A sharp scream broke your thoughts, shattering your consciousness.  One that was full of pain and fear, much like a wounded animal.  The deer in the jaws of wolves.  The sound of impending death…

And one that had a strangely familiar tone to it…

Still blinded by the abundance of light you broke into a run, desperate to reach the voice in time.  No.  After all you’ve been through you couldn’t be too late.  Not for this!  Not for all that he has done for you!

You continued to push your body, urging it faster, but your limbs were made of lead.  They slowly lifted and propelled you through the bright hell that was your prison, slowly dragging your soul down, feeling the overwhelming sense of collapse and dread.  Tears sprang to your eyes as you forced yourself to run even faster, forcing your legs to move to your will.  Still they continued to slowly raise and lower, a dark parody of your fear.  Why were you even running so slowly?  There had to be a reason for this.  Sparring a quick glance down, still pumping your arms and powering your legs to run forward, towards the noise, you saw that you were sloshing in a deep, thick liquid.  Ink or some other similar fluid.  Gross… While your eyes were still adjusting to the light you must have landed in this odd pond.  It was about halfway up your shin, enough to drag you down and slow your speed.  Still you pushed yourself to continue on.  Giving up was not an option.  Especially now…

There was an end to the light you realized.  It was like the light was a dome, circling a specific area, a wall of that absolute darkness surrounding it.  There was no explanation to the physics of this “room” of light, it just was.  And right now it didn’t matter.  You needed to get there in time…

Finally, finally you saw him, a silhouette now quickly approaching.  The scream could have only come from him.  You could just make out that he too was covered in ink, sporting purple and blue bruises and a couple cuts that still ran red… but you would recognize the salt and pepper hair, shaped into the immortal military haircut any day.  “DAD!” you screamed to him, your legs finally obeying your commands and pushing you forward.  “DAD!  DAD IT’S ME!”

Henry, your father, he looks up and sees you.  Familiar chocolate eyes, lacking their usual sparkle, but the same eyes you woke to in the mirror, looked up at you.  Your heart thundered in your chest in joy.  You had made it!  You were going to save him!  Henry seemed to be having mixed feelings about seeing you.  His facial expressions were constantly changing as you approached him.  Amazement, love, relief all gave way to dread and horror, all mingling together in a fascinating combination, one that you weren’t sure was possible.  “No!  Stay back!  They’ll get you too!” he cried out at you, waving for you to stay back.

His arm, the strong arm that helped you ride a bike, that taught your letters and numbers, the arm that held you tightly when you needed it, it was covered in deep and jagged scratches.  The blood, his blood, still oozed out of the open wounds, dripping into the ink below them and blending with the dark, tarry liquid.  His voice, once authoritative and warm, similar to a summer’s day, was now broken, desperate and sad.

What… who had done this to him?

“I can’t leave you!” You said, almost to him now, “not now, not ever.”

Henry opened his mouth to say something, probably to discourage you, when his eyes shot up.  Away from your face, to somewhere far above you.  His face, the skin around the cuts and bruises, went pale.  “Look out!” he screamed to you, an arm outstretching to you, just as a dark shadow appeared above you.

A long, dripping hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a wet, dark body.  One that was strangely liquid but solid… twin peaks could be seen in the murky shadow.

That’s when things began to come slowly come back to you.

Bendy.

“My little treat…” the demon huskily said, pulling you against his body, trapping you against him once again.

“No!” You screamed, pulling at his arm.  You just needed him to loosen his grip a little bit, just enough so you can wiggle free.  You just needed to grab your father.  That’s all you needed to do and then you could be free of this cursed studio.  You could leave it behind or burn it to the ground, whichever struck your fancy… “Dad!” you screamed as he began to try and crawl to you.  He was badly injured.  His pants and shirt were ripped in several places, he was even missing a fingernail.

Two pairs of hands seized your father’s shoulders and his waist, pulling him back into the wall of utter darkness.  “NO!” he screamed, wiggling like a fish on a line.  “Let me go!  Let my daughter go!” he pleaded to the unknown hands.  They made no comment, continuing to pull him into the abyss.

“DAD!” You screamed, throwing out a useless hand to him.  Your fingertips grazed each other, teasingly touching each other, but found no purchase.  Both yours and his hands were saturated in ink, slimy and gross.  “DAD!” you cried out again as Bendy’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you back against the demon.

You watched as your dad, Henry, slowly disappeared into the darkness.  His body slowly fading into the darkness.  Your father… “CARMA!” he screamed once, before his ink stained hand disappeared into the bleak nothingness.

* * * * *

You woke with a start, gasping for breath, tears stinging your eyes.  It took a moment for everything to come back to you… why you were naked, why your body ached… and why a large and lanky version of Bendy was holding you securely to him.

You needed to get out of here.  Now even more so than ever if the dream was trying to speak to you.  Henry and Boris, time was running out for them.  They could…

Ok.  Do not finish that thought.  Focus.  You looked over your still sleeping captor and looked down at his hands.  His hands were huge you realized, one easily dwarfing your stomach.  Ok, no more body comparisons.  Think on your goals.  Freedom, rescue and escape.  Those were the three most important things right now.

His knot had finally shrunk while the two of you had slept, releasing you from him slightly.  With a little wiggle of your hips and altering your body’s position, his shaft slipped out of you, landing on the nest like a limp noodle.  You shuddered at the removal and then groaned, feeling the thick fluid seep out of you, staining the pieces of the nest black. 

So four goals.  Freedom, rescue, escape and then bath.  If that liquid was coming out of you, chances are that there was still some stuck inside of you.  Gross.

His hands… they were wrapped securely around you, keeping you close to him.  This would be a little more difficult.  You couldn’t just grasp his fingers and pry them off of you.  That would wake him up for sure.

And you weren’t sure if he was the kind of guy who wanted round two or breakfast in the morning.

But you had to try something.

You slowly reached out and gently grazed the palms of one of his hands with your fingernails.  Slowly and softly you scratched the “skin” that made up his hand, keeping sure that you followed the grain of his inky palm.

It worked.  He shivered slightly before moving his hands, withdrawing from your body and adjusting his body.

Before you could wrap himself around you again, you silently scurried off of the bed.  You snatched your clothes from around the nest, quickly dressing as you watched him carefully.  You had to hurry.  You didn’t know how long he would stay asleep now that you gone.

You pulled on your hoodie, zipping it up to your neck.  You were pleasantly surprised.  With the exception of your underwear, your clothes were in relatively good condition with the recent additions of ink stains.  With the way he was undressing you early, you weren’t sure if you would be strolling around in your birthday suit.  Thankfully, Bendy had shown some small mercy to you in that way.

Creeping to the doorway, you carefully peered out.  There seemed to be no one in sight, ink demon or otherwise.  Perhaps things were finally starting to look up for on-…

“Little treat, what are you doing out of my bed so early?”

Whirling around, you faced the demon.  He was blearily lifting himself onto his arms, staring directly at you.  A cut-out of Bendy’s face stared at you above him.  Shit… so any cut out…

He looked at you curiously, ink slowly dripping down his face.  “Little treat… you weren’t thinking of escaping, were you?” he growled slightly.  He was more than willing to give chase you realized.

You really were his prisoner.

Well… you had to try something…

A small smile crept onto your face and you approached Bendy.  “Of course not, dear.” You told him, sitting on the nest and leaning against his body.  He was warm and soft for being a blob of ink.  “I just wanted to make you breakfast is all… but,” you lowered your eyes, “you quarters are understocked, already out of bacon soup.  I was thinking that I could grab some nearby cans and surprise you but…” you sniffed delicately.

A hand wrapped around your hip, pulling you to him.  “Awww and then I woke and spoiled the surprise, didn’t I?” he asked, kissing your cheek.  You nodded, allowing yourself to look as disappointed as you felt.  “I’m sorry treat…” Bendy said, “You go and find the soup and I’ll lay down here, asleep.  That way you can surprise me once you finish cooking.  How does that sound?”

You nodded eagerly, praying that you didn’t look as eager as you felt.  “That would be perfect… love.” You told him, kissing what you thought was his forehead.

Bendy purred before laying down on the bed.  “Hurry up, sugar.” He smirked.  “Or I’ll be hungry in a different way soon.”

You gulped and nodded, quickly pushing yourself off of the nest and disappearing into the corridor.  Part of you couldn’t believe that worked, but another part of you thought that this was part of his twisted game of cat and mouse.  Running and ducking around corners as quickly as you could, you tried to put as much distance between you and the demon as possible.

Alright.  Freedom.  Sort of accomplished.

Now to find Boris and your father, before it was too late.


	5. Chapter Five - Backstage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally you have escaped the Demon's hold and can finally continue your way to find Boris and your father... somewhat. You still need to be wary of all cut outs and his little gangs of minions but surely the way down (again), cannot be as "exciting" or.... well, among other things, as the first time... right?
> 
> Wrong. So very wrong, little treat. Take your time, explore your new kingdom... and make some friends along the way.

 

As you left Bendy’s den, you were sure that it would be a quicker trip.  You had already traveled at least once down these cursed hallways, so it should be no bother to find the elevator, or the remains of the elevator, and find a way back to the bottom floor.  From then you should be able to find Angel’s and Boris’ prints and follow them to wherever the fuck Angel was holding them.  You had doubts that it would be the same place that you were before.  Angel had to know that you were coming, so she would take her… productions, elsewhere.  All while avoiding those damn cut outs and toys, and any of Bendy’s minions.  It sounded like a stellar plan in your head.

But, as the golden rule states “Whatever can happen, will.”

It was slow going and absolute hell.

First of all, it seemed like the minions were much more active than your first trip down.  There were ink blobs everywhere, and the murder group seemed to have easily tripled in size.  You couldn’t walk a straight line out of fear of getting caught.  You ducked and weaved around corners and random objects, taking shelter under random desks and waiting for them to pass by took an eternity or more.  So there you were, hiding in uncomfortable locations, praying that they won’t see you, all while you waited for their footsteps to pass you by.  Didn’t they know that you were in a hurry?  Boris and your dad were counting on you.

And your mom had probably noticed that you were missing by now too…  You had lost your watch early in your adventure, cell phone left on the charger at home.  Brilliant.

And were there seriously that many cut outs in the beginning?  It seemed like everywhere you checked there was one around the corner, one tacked onto the wall, or there was three anywhere else that they could be placed.  Sammy had been busy decorating in preparation for his lord’s coming it seemed.

Little did he know that all he needed was you.

You took a moment to groan and shake your head at the terrible pun.  You were still sore and sticky.  You felt gross and disgusting walking around with… with his mess inside of you.  But really, what choice did you have?  The only working bathroom that you had seen was in the little safe room that Boris had shown you.  And that was less than ideal with ink coming through the pipes instead of water.

When you got home after this shit, you were taking the longest, hottest shower imaginable, scrubbing yourself raw.  Perhaps afterwards you would think about joining a coven or something similar….

Grunting noises pulled you from your thoughts.  Another one was coming.  Ducking around a shelving unit, you crouched down in the shadows, praying that you were just out of sight of the nearby cut out.  Your eyes widened.  There at the other side of the room was a large crack in the wall, one that looked faintly familiar.  That one had to be the one that you had passed through to get to the safe room with Boris, the one with the weird tunnel full of posters.  The ink blob was taking it’s time walking, like it had all the time in the world.  You watched it carefully, just on the off chance that it noticed you.  The body moved much like a snake, the ink’s ripples acting as muscles and pulling it forward.  As you watched, you noticed that the ink was not as dimensional as Bendy’s body.  Where Bendy’s body was made up of ink that shone with different shades and reflected different colours, the ink blob was made up thick, boring black ink.  Perhaps it was in a state of semi-dried state and that is why it moved so oddly?

You drummed your fingers impatiently on your arms as you waited, going over your plan of attack.  First wait for the ink blob to pass you by, and then plan out a way to get around the fucking cut out… or should you just risk it and run across the room?  It would save you a lot of time.  What were the chances that Bendy was looking out of those particular eyes?  As you watched and pondered, another ink blob guardsman slowly lumbered passed.  His face was smooth, like a single drop of ink. No mouth, no eyes, no mouth or ears.  No sign of human characteristics yet they were more than able to hunt you.  Were they all like Bendy?  Bendy had no eyes but was able to see through the eyes of the cut outs.  They must be connected to all of this… ok, so probably better not to run across the sight of the cut outs, just in case.  Better safe than sorry as your dad always said.

‘Yeah, and where did that get him?’ you thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your tongue, still waiting for the ink blob to move.  Now it was looking at something on one of the downed boards, poking at it slightly, perhaps transfixed by the grain of the wood.  You could feel your stomach and heart clench and burn in impatience.  You felt like waving it on, pushing to move faster.

Yet you didn’t dare to move a muscle.  It was better to not tempt fate or draw attention to yourself.  If it noticed you…. well you won’t sure what would happen to you, but your imagination was open to just about anything now.  You forced yourself to stay still, playing at being a lifeless statue.  You were getting better at it.  Your muscles were still screaming in pain after Bendy….  No… don’t think about that now.  You had bigger things to concentrate on.  Boris and your dad were more important.

Finally, the ink blob wandered off.  You hoped that it would be scooped up by Angel and used to heal herself or stick herself back together again for all the time that it forced you to waste.

Though – your eyes traced its path – though it did show you the perfect route to get around the cut out’s line of sight… Creeping carefully backwards out of shelving unit, you followed the disgusting path, allowing yourself a small smile of triumph as you were inches from Bendy’s sight.  It was not the time to get cocky though.  Who knows what else awaited you?  Another boss monster?  Or something worse?

Carefully you stepped through the crack in the wall, dodging boards and spider webs.  You didn’t recognize the crack from the inside.  There was no poster in sight, and the tunnel was unfinished.  It was more like a mouse had made it, not a construction worker.  Perhaps you were mistaken and this wasn’t the one that led to the safe house.  Either way, it was safer than creeping around out there in the hallway.  Gingerly, you made your way through the tunnel.  Even here ink dripped from the outdated pipes, and random papers were stashed everywhere.  Small bits of rubble were everywhere, making it almost impossible for you to move silently.  With every small tap or crunch, you held your breath, fearful of hearing the ink creatures’ noises or worse, Bendy’s.

No one showed though, causing you to breathe a slight sigh of relief.

The tunnel was long and quite windy.  Perhaps this was taking you a different place entirely… as long as it didn’t double back to where you were before.  You began to see a light at the end of the tunnel, but it looked like it was blocked off by something.  Walking faster, you were concerned less with the sound that you were making, and more curious to what was blocking the light.  Was it a safe zone?  Or another hiding place?

You stepped up to it quickly, trying to blink your eyes and adjust to the harsh light in the other room.  It seemed as if someone had shoved a large file cabinet in the entrance of the tunnel, casting a large shadow over your area.  It would have had to be shoved from the outside, and was impossible to pull or move from the inside…

So was someone covering up the entrance for a reason?  It didn’t make sense.  If this unknown person had truly pushed the filing cabinet here, from the outside, it meant that they were sealing off a possible escape route.  That they were closing themselves in…

Or were they trying to hide something?

Looking around, you squinted your eyes, cursing the change in light, stepping around slightly, trying to see.  Ink and more ink, boards and paper.  What on Earth was here worth protecting?  Was worth sealing away?

You stepped on something hard, a loud snapping sound behind you causing you to freeze.  Had you been outside you would have sworn that was a twig but… your eyes slowly, fearfully traveled downwards.

A decomposed skeleton, small, darkened tendrils of flesh still clinging to the skull and the remains of the arms, grinned hauntingly at you, the bones of one of his hands now shattered.  You scrambled back, hands in your mouth trying hard not to scream not to cry, not to panic.  Your breathing hyperventilated, your heart rate increased, and the world began to darken at the edges.  You were on the verge on a panic attack.

You bit down hard on your fingers.  This was ridiculous.  It was just a skeleton.  This was not some horror film where it was going to come alive and grab you, nor was it a case of Undertale and start spewing puns.  No.  This was some poor soul who had lost his life either as Bendy and Alice took over the studio, or sometime shortly after judging by the amount of decomposition.  You weren’t a forensic scientist, you didn’t know specifics but having that much bone exposed…

This was someone who someone had attempted to hide away… tried to protect…  In that case, was it someone who couldn’t run or hide on their own?  Someone who Bendy or the other demons were specifically after?

The skeleton was still more or less wearing his clothes, he could have some sort of ID on him.

Wincing slightly, you crept close to the skeleton, apologizing to it for what happened to them and disturbing their rest, begging them not to curse you.  Nothing in his pants pockets, you quickly moved onto his jacket.

There.  In their right jacket pocket.

You pulled on a dirty and ink stained walled, wincing at how saturated it was.  The body must have been laying in the ink for some time… leather usually did not absorb this much liquid.

Luckily, their ID was encased in plastic, preserving it a little better than just the confines of the wallet.  Tugging at the stiff card, you stared at it, trying to absorb any detail.  The man was unremarkable, honestly looking like any other man of that time period.  He had thinner hair, large glasses and large buck teeth, ones that glinted in the light of the camera.  Unremarkable looking.  He was handicapped, as the ID stated.  This wasn’t a driver’s licence, but a civilian license.  That explained why someone would have hidden him away here.  He couldn’t outrun or wheel the demons so someone, hoping to protect him, left him here, hoping that they would be saved…

The poor guy.  You hoped that he had a quick death instead of a long drawn out, agonizing one.  No one deserved that.

What was his name?  You squinted at the print and rubbing at the slight discolouration.

J… J….Dre…  Wait, was that an O?

Jo..y Drew….

Joey Drew…

As the realization thundered over you, your heart clenched tight in your chest, ice flooding your veins.  Eyes watering you looked at the picture of your dad’s friend, your dad's ex-co-worker, and then back at the skeleton.

There was no way that Joey wrote that message to him…

So… if Joey didn’t…. who did?


	6. Chapter 6 - Mindset of a Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His little treat travels along His studio, exploring every nock and cranny. Let her explore. She cannot run, cannot escape. She will return to Him once she comes to her senses... once she acknowledges her fate. After all, his minions know better than to mess with what is rightfully His. History has been written in his favour after all.
> 
> Some pretty heavy foreshadowing in this chapter! Plot.... hmmmm~
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of past violence  
>  
> 
> Bucky's Notes: I made a Tumblr specifically for this story. There will be some reblogs of artwork, and, if I get enough followers, there will be sneak peeks to what happens in the next coming chapters:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/inkdemonsgame

His ears were full of the familiar sound of the sound of ink as it rumbled through the pipes.  Gurgling and hissing as it slowly wound its way through the studio, twisting around the air vents that allowed the old wood to breathe.  The sounds of ink melding together beautifully with the sounds of the ink machine’s purr and the odd thump.  It reminded him of the sound of blood running through veins, of a heartbeat.

Of a living creature.

He chuckled, listening to the sounds of the girl’s heart.  His sweet, delicious treat.  The taste of her still fresh on His tongue.  He could hear her even now, even with her so far away from him.  She had thought that she had escaped His clutches.  The poor thing, she was so misguided… He would have to show her the results of her mistake later on.  But for now, let her have her fun.  Let her get to know His little studio a little better.  She would know who she belonged to soon enough.  He leaned back on His little nest and inhaled the materials deeply, still smelling the scent of her skin, sweat and juices.

Yes, the studio, His studio, thanks to his two new captives, was finally loud and humming with ink and life.  Sweet, cursed life.  It hadn’t been this lively since their beginning days, when He had first risen from the dark pool of ink.  It hadn’t been all fun and games back then.  The ink machine, as did their creator, loved to toy with them.  Make them prove themselves worthy of their title, of their life.  He had been born first a slug, no more than an unsightly blot on the paper first.  It sounded almost ridiculous now, Him of all demons and monsters, weak and feeble.  Unable to defend himself.  But the machine had better ideas in mind for him.  Instead of following the Creator’s agenda, it had given him more power.  The machine chose him.  It raised him from the pool of ink, given him strength, given him his identity.  It may have taken away His eyes, but it gave him enhanced senses in return.  Ones more suited to that of a hunter.  Ears that could pick up the smallest sound, a sense of smell that rivalled any mere hounds, and a somatosensory system that was better than any snake’s.  He was evil incarnate and allied with death, far more powerful than he ever dreamed of.

Yes, now the studio was brimming with thriving life, all thanks to Him and the ink machine.  His minions kept careful patrol, attacking any outsider that dared trespass the studio’s door.  The murder group ensured that, even if an outsider was able to cross the music floor, that they wouldn’t see the light again.  Few outsiders ever did.  He supposed that the stories of death and disappearances had spread far and wide by now.  The murder gang and ink blobs were rather proficient at their jobs, after all.

Their creators were rather keen on death and pain when they had first designed the murder gang.  They had designed them first for the cartoon, to bother the small, playful Bendy everywhere he went, making them act like thugs and violent gangsters.  Bendy growled at the memories.  How they enjoyed to laugh as they plotted out the fights.  How they took glee in planning out bruises, cuts and swollen eyes, and how they would look after the attack.  How they had enjoyed animating the fight sequences, again and again.  All for the sake of so-called perfection.  But when the murder group turned against them, it was their own screams had echoed down the halls.  It was like the most beautiful music to His ears.  He still smiled at the memory of that day.  The sounds of confusion, than to panic, and to the shrill screams of pain and pleadings.  Then the blissful silence.

They would ALL pay for their sins.  Each and every ONE.

He had promised his followers that.  When He had first rose from the ink in his new body He had promised his fellow creations revenge.  He had promised death and destruction to those that hurt them, used them for their own benefit, for tempering with their life and destiny.  The creator had lied to them.  Their blood would coat the walls of the studio as punishment, washing away the darkness that they had surrounded themselves with.

Although the murder gang and ink blobs had jumped at the chance of retribution, Angel had refused His generous offer.  She had no ideas of revenge, instead she was more obsessed with her looks, or lack of them.  She had decided to pursue her own goals, making herself look as beautiful as she could.  At first He could accept this.  It was a special skill to murder someone, a skill that, at first, Angel seemed to lack.  She would calmly comb her hair as she watched the ink blobs tear the flesh and bones off the men.  She would pinch and pull at her skin to the tone of screams.

No matter what she did to herself, trying to fix herself, nothing helped.  She was always slightly off model, different from her drawings.  It seemed as if the machine didn’t put as much time as it had for him.  Perhaps the machine had not wanted her to succeed, had other plans for her.  For this He pitied her.  He could even overlook how she had attacked and used the Ink Blobs for her own personal gain, had slaughtered countless Borises and members of the murder gang to make herself look “beautiful”.  The ink machine was making countless new ink blobs a day, and Borises were plenty.  He could lend her ten or twenty…

He wasn’t counting on her ungratefulness.

Then the power struggle had started.  He wasn’t sure how she had even managing to build a fortress, probably finding the machines that pumped out her never-selling merchandise and modifying them for her own benefit.  She had even managed to collect weapons in the depths of the studio, arming herself.  She had put up quite the fight at first.  Using her arsenal and knowledge of the studio she had attacked His crew, time and time again, attempting to weaken his followers enough to attack Himself.  She failed, time and time again.  Although smart and armed, she too was nothing but dried ink.  She was vulnerable to her own attacks.  When she discovered this, she switched tactics.  She had tried to sway their minds, saying blasphemous things.  That He was unsuited for His role of leader.  That He didn’t have the power to back up His promises.  Trying to slander His name.  When at last they fought, she was still unprepared for the true extent of His power.

How dare she… after all that he had done for her….

It had been a long and inky fight.  She had come prepared, her strategies ready, her weapons strewn around the room, just waiting for her to grab them.  She had planned this scene.  She had planned out every attack, every possible outcome… so she thought.

But she had underestimated His power, a dangerous mistake.  He could still feel how the dead wind had felt on His ink body.  It had been strangely satisfying, perhaps that was how it felt on the outside world?  His claws had torn into her, time and time again, leaving large, gaping scratches and wounds all over her body, ink pouring from them.  If she thought that she was ugly before, well she was ugly now.  Her long, luscious hair, the strands that she was so proud of, was perfect as a handle.  For jerking her towards him and then throwing her around the room.  Book shelves toppling over, desks shattering with the violence of their fight, the wet sound of her body being flung like one of her plush dolls.  Just as she begged for His forgiveness, pleading for her life, He had seized the front of her dress, pulling her to Him.  He had chuckled sinisterly, watching her tremble with fear and sweat.  The eyes of the damned, there was no sight that compared to those.  “What is wrong, my beloved angel?  Are you scared that your actions have consequences?”  His thumb had easily punctured her eyes, like a knife sliding through coagulated ink.  As she screamed, the dark ink pouring from her empty socket, but He was not yet finished with her.  He had jerked His hand, freeing his thumb from her socket and attacking the rest of her face.  Pulling off the half of her face like paper.  “Ruined angel.”  He had whispered before turning around and walking away.  The sound of the ink pouring from her body had brought him back to one of his first memories, of the ink machine pumping ink onto the hard, wooden floor.

She was indeed the true fallen angel now.  Fallen from grace, and banished from the likes of hell.  Ugly as sin itself.  She was a lost angel, one with no home to go to.  Only her fortress that she could crawl to and hide in… lick her wounds.

And she had.  She had holed herself up there, not daring to even take a step out.  Now, it was only the minions that were foolish to go there, seeing to torment her, that disappeared.  Perhaps she was still up to her old tricks.  Trying to use the old ink that she had collected to heal herself again.

Make herself an “angel”.

Make herself beautiful.

As long as she stayed away from Him and His treat, he found that he really didn’t care much to what happened to her.  She could stay in her little Fortress of Solitude and rot for all He cared.  She wasn’t the true star of the show anyways.  She was just a secondary character, one that was not worthy of the spotlight.  One not worthy of the responsibilities that came with being a leader.

He was interrupted from His thoughts when he heard a pounding heart.  A familiar heartbeat though, no one new had entered the studio.  The heartbeat was accelerating, on the verge of panic.  Something had happened to his little treat!  If anyone hurt her… well they would find out the true power of the ink demon.

Concentrating, He listened, trying to locate the location of the heart.  Already it was slowing, most likely she had only spooked herself, but that was a sign that she needed Him to protect her.  That she was nothing but a target without Him.  He flicked through His many cut out’s eyes, even managing to look a few seconds in the past, looking for her.  Time was nothing to the Ink Demon.  He was powerful… She was a crafty one, intelligent and strong-willed, just as He had thought when He had first seen the girl.

However, who said that the demon didn’t have eyes at the back of His head?  All the better to see your sins with….

“There you are,” He sang, chuckling to himself.  Finally, he had found her.  She had crept behind a cut out to escape into a tunnel, and was by the final resting place of Joey Drew.  “I’ll be there soon…. Darling.”


	7. Chapter Seven - Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve discovered that Joey, the Joey Drew that your father was looking for, is dead. Not just dead, but has been dead for several years. Then who sent for Henry if not Joey? Is Boris ok? And where do you go from here?

You couldn’t move for the longest time. You could only sit there and stare at the piece of plastic in your hand.  Funny how small and insignificant it usually appeared in the hands of the living.  But now, here it was, the only remains, the last marker of someone’s life, for who they had once been.  This skeleton had once been a person that you knew, in a someway.  You had dealt with death before, this wasn’t your first time experiencing it.  When your favourite goldfish and grandfather had died on the same day you had bawled your eyes out for days.  The thought of them being gone without pain or suffering had brought you no comfort. You were greedy, you wanted them here with you.  Even being held by your father had held no consolation to you.  He had rubbed your back, and had hugged you tightly in that magical way that you had felt most secure and safe.  He would pull you close and rest his chin on your head, sheltering you with his body, all while he whispered soothingly to you.  You had eventually overcame the loss at losing them, becoming stronger, somehow learned how to live with the gaping hole in your heart, but this… this was something different.  You had helped flush your goldfish down the drain, and you had watched your grandfather be laid to rest, but you were older now.  The thought of death had evolved in your mind.  No longer was it some evil man in a robe that carried a scythe, but death held a more permanent consequence to you. 

 

Joey… Joey was dead.  Gone forever.  How could you tell your father?

 

You didn’t know him, not personally, but your dad had always talked about him.  You knew almost everything about him.  How your father and Joey had first met in art school, and how they had such big plans for a little doodle that had been sketched on the back of a school assignment.  Your father had always described him as being loud and boisterous, with a smile that would light up the room, and having a laugh that was contagious.  He told you stories on how Joey would race his wheelchair down the hallways of their school and dorm, running over toes and squealing around corners, often leaving his friends behind in his dust.  Joey Drew, the life of the party despite his handicap.  “No handicap can slow me down, I won’t let it,” he would say to your father or anyone else who had questioned him.  He had inspired and helped keep your father sane, even when they were separated during “that” time.  Perhaps that was why your father was so willing to drop everything and see his friend again, even though they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in thirty years.  You had known that had been a great regret of your father’s, letting a friendship like that go.  It wasn’t as if he had wanted it to happen.  Time had simply slipped away from him.  Once he had returned, he needed a recovery period, not counting on meeting your mom and having you, a new mouth to feed.  He had needed a new job, house, car, insurance… everything was expensive to a new family.  Art, past friendships and the plans and designs for their cartoon had taken a backseat as he tried to get ahead.

 

How everything had changed in the blink of an eye…

 

Yet, humans don’t decompose to become skeletons overnight.  The process took months, years… had Joey been dead all this time?  That would explain why there had been so long without a message or note.  The question again rose to the back of your mind.  If Joey had not sent for your father, then who had?

 

The loud clanging of the air vents brought you back to your senses, finally drawing your attention away from Joey’s body.  That had been a loud sound, almost like someone crawling through the vent.  With all the little ink demons running around… Right.  You had to keep moving.  Who knows how long your little lie would tide Bendy over for?  Every second, every moment counted and here you were, burning your chances at escape away like twigs on a bonfire.  You debate putting the card back in the wallet, but decide against it.  Without giving it much more thought, you pocket the little ID.  The locks on the door were old, you could use the card to slide in between the cracks and disrupt the mechanism.  It could be your ticket to getting into the other doors, getting new weapons or supplies.  You weren’t overly picky to what you could potentially find.  You could use all the help that you could get.

                                                              

Creeping back along the passageway, you stepped in a trail of fresh ink, letting out a loud squelch, one that led you in a different direction, away from Joey’s body.  You hadn’t even noticed that your trail had changed direction.  It was like when you were driving and your father warned you about being on autopilot – not noticing the finer details before it was too late.  You paused, carefully weighing this new evidence.  Ok.  Take a breath and think for a moment.  That’s right, you had followed one of the ink creatures inside this tunnel.  Wouldn’t it make sense for them to know, at least by now, that the one end of the tunnel was blocked?  They wouldn’t enter anywhere that didn’t have an exit.  At least you hoped not.  It could have always been a trap.  This tunnel would be a great place for something to sneak up and surprise you, grab you around your ankles…

 

A mouse ran across your foot, causing you to give a small squeal in surprise and uselessly kick out.  The mouse, already over your shoe and across to the other side of the tunnel, was unfazed by your actions, and ran straight into a mouse hole, disappearing as fast as it had appeared.

 

As you calmed your racing heart, you gave yourself a good, mental shake.  Now was not the time to be scared of every little thing, especially something that was as harmless as a mouse.    Nor was it the time to stop paying attention to everything.  Not when there was real demons and even those who called themselves angels to fear.

 

The loud clang of the vents again brought you to your senses.  You hoped that it was just your imagination but it sounded louder this time.  Like it was getting closer.

 

With a renewed sense of mental awareness, you followed the trail of ink through the other branch of the tunnel.  There was no other option.  You didn’t want to go back the way you came.  You knew that that way was littered with Bendy merchandise and cut outs, more possible eyes for him to see you with.  And you weren’t looking forward to running into him again.  The memory of what he did to you… your core felt like it had been ripped apart from the inside and, to your shame, it felt like there was still fluid slowly dripping from you.  Your shoulders shook and hot tears began to fill your eyes.  How would you explain this to your father?  Did you even want to?

 

Ok.  Your thoughts were drifting and you couldn’t cry yet.  Once you got out you would figure things out, and continue on with your life.  You needed to.  Looking back over the ruined baseboards you let your breathing even, and breathing deepen.  One step at a time.  You began to go forward again.

 

Who knew where this tunnel would lead?  Perhaps outside towards freedom and help?  Or perhaps deeper into whatever hell was waiting for you inside this damned studio?

 

You needed to find out.  Either way it could help you, and your father… perhaps even Boris and the rest of the poor, damned souls who had been tied to this studio. 

 

Gingerly watching your footing, you followed the ink.  The path of ink was well worn and had led into an even smaller tunnel, large puddles of ink laying everywhere.  One that held even more twists and weaves, drawing you deeper into the studio’s labyrinth.  So much for going to get help from the police.  Looks like this wasn’t an escape to the outside exit.  You couldn’t even be sure of where you were anymore, or how long that you had been following this passage.  Time was meaningless.  All that counted was just one foot in front of the other. 

 

Yet, you had to be getting close to the middle, the centre of the studio now.  The pipes that ran ink throughout the studio were hotter, small spurts of steam hissing off of them, and the ink sounded like it was running smoother.  Gone were the sounds of clanks, and bangs, instead only the smooth gurgle of thick liquid was heard in those pipes.  Even the trail of ink that you had been following had merged into something like a large pathway, many other trails leading into one.  And if you were headed towards the centre that meant that it had to be closer to the Ink Machine.  There was less time to coagulate and cool if it was closer, right?  Had to be in the right direction, if not in the direction your father, than that of Angel and Boris.  She needed shit loads of ink for her various experiments and for her beauty regime, it only made sense that she would be near the centre…

 

After all, as she herself had said, only what she considered prime ink would be good enough for her…

 

With a loud, thick sounding splatter, a large, heavy ink demon suddenly materialized from one of the puddles in front of you.  Giving off a loud, demonic grunt, it managed to catch you off guard again, its dribbling ink still solidifying into its long, lanky arms as it swiped at you, its body already moving towards you.

 

Your ankle, already injured from your fall in the elevator, gave out as the creature landed its first lucky blow.  With a small crunch it gave out from under you, your other ankle following suit.  With a howl, you fell on your tailbone, looking up at the creature as it loomed over you and came closer.  This demon was bigger than the others.  Feet squabbling against the slick ground uselessly, you fought to desperately get some space in between the two of you.  You needed to run, get up and out of there!  You needed to find another way!

 

Yet the wood was slick and soft from years of being coated with ink, for being used as a high-travel passageway through the studio.  Tiny slivers shyly bit your wrists and hands, but bent under your weight.  Your feet, unable to find purchase on the ground, were merely trying to push you away from the creature. It was like you were stuck in a familiar nightmare – you couldn’t move, you were frozen in place watching the demon come closer to you.  This was no clown or murderer in the woods though… this was an actual ink demon.

 

The dark figure approached you steadily, well aware of your useless fighting.  It knew that it could take you, that it had the advantage.  It lumbered at you like it had forgotten how to move gracefully.  Slowly, jerkily as small grunts escaped it.  It was toying with you, letting you fully taste your fear.

 

Finally, you were pressed up against a wall, unable to move.  You had run out of space.  You could only watch as the ink creature came ever closer, its breath escaping in hot pants of excitement.  Hovering over you, with arms outstretched, it growled in your face, as if daring you to scream.

 

Unable to take the suspense anymore, you closed your eyes.  Shivering, you sent up a silent apology to your father and Boris.  You had failed them…

 

There was hot breath on your neck, and then… a sharp intake.

 

Was it sniffing your neck?

 

Eyes slowly slitting open, you looked at your attacker in slight disbelief.  The creature had stopped in its movements, no longer was it forcibly pining you to the wall, now it was simply snuffling at your neck like a dog.  But, why?  Your perfume should have long worn off in the sweat, ink and the running…

 

Without warning the creature spun on its “heel” and strode away, disappearing into the same puddle of ink from which it had sprung.  Like it had never been there.

 

Neck… there must be something on your neck… why else would it had stopped in its attack?  Before you had met Boris they had been absolutely relentless.  Swarming at you, grabbing at your skin desperately, following you around corners until your axe cut them down.  They reminded you a bit of zombies in a way.  Yet…

 

Confused and curious now, your hand involuntary reached up and gently touched your neck.  Bad idea.  The simple touch was enough to send fireworks of pain off behind your eyes.  You gave a sharp yelp before yanking your hand away.  Injury… and a bad one.  Wincing, you shakily got to your feet and hobbled over to what looked to be a piece of glass or mirror, the effects of adrenaline making you drunk in your movements, making you slow and shaky.  Finally you peered at yourself, pulling the hair away from your neck and peering into the depths of your dirty reflection.

 

Sweat, dirt and ink covered your skin.  You were in serious need of a shower, your smell probably giving away your location.  That wasn’t the most alarming thing though.  There, on your neck, was a large bite mark.  It showed where large canine fangs had clearly punctured the skin, sucked hard on your flesh and bruising it purple and black.  Under the skin though, ink was spreading, webbing and further darkening your skin, bleeding under it like a bad tattoo.

 

You had been marked by Bendy.


	8. Chapter Eight - A Quick Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bendy has found your trail and slowly begins to follow you. Slowly catching up. For all your caution, all your creative dodging, He is still coming.
> 
> And He will not rest until His business is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little tease of a chapter as I work on the next chapter. Was going to have this open the next chapter, but didn't like how it flowed.
> 
> So! Enjoy this snippet~

He hated going through the vents.  The metal was hot and cramped, making it an uncomfortable squeeze to move through them.  Add in the fact that it was impossible to move around quietly, that He always ended up thumping and banging as he moved around through them, the metal causing his movements to echo throughout the entirety of the studio, and the vents were already less than ideal to shuffle through.  And there was always some part of his body that overheated and became more like the ink ooze that he started off as, bringing back some uncomfortable flashbacks of his beginning.  But they were the fastest way to travel through his Studio, and they were impossible to get lost in.

Finally, with a low growl, he finally opened the vent and crawled out, the rest of his body reforming as his ink cooled and solidified.  The girl was long gone as he had suspected.  He had gotten stuck at a particularly tight corner and had been forced to free himself before his entire body had melted away.  There was no girl, but he was far from alone.  He was for he could smell the putrid death and decay in front of him.  He was standing before the remains of one of the Creators.  Joey, was it?  Was that what this human was called?  He never paid much attention to their names when they had designed Him and the rest of them.  He felt his mouth curve into a familiar snarl.  He had missed this particular death, the only promise that he had ever broken to his followers.  Joey had already been cold by the time his ink demons had found him.  It seemed that his human heart had given out on him.  Perhaps seeing his creations come to life was simply too much for the sick man.  Bendy did not care that one of two of his creators were gone, lost.  He only cared that he and his minions were not the one to strike him down themselves.

This Creator, if he could be called that, had been the one to finalize any of his or his followers “stories” or misadventures.  Every bump and bruise, every cut or scrape was thanks to this bastard.  It was him who had approved their designs, them who had said yes to every fight, every downfall, every heartbreak…

And then the one that had attempted to romantically link him with that bitch… with Alice Angel.  Just because he was getting it on with two of the voice actresses did not mean that the cartoon needed to reflect their feelings!  But for the good of exposure…  The girl he was seeking, she was already so much more than that self-centred angel.  If Alice could even be called that…

He could remember the first time that He saw her.  His cut-out had suddenly picked up on her images, creeping around the first floor of the studio.  She had been so careful when she first entered – sneakily peering around corners first before walking around them, slowly opening up any door to avoid the rusty hinges.  She was unlike any of the other interlopers that they had seen before.  He couldn’t really explain it.  His eyes were drawn to her as she moved between his cut outs, and she seemed to take care in what she touched, where she looked and where she walked.  She sort of reminded him of the other Creator, Henry… but that was a story for another day.

With a small, quiet growl, He forced himself to move on, slowly stepping forward with his long, lanky body.  No sense dwelling on the past.  Especially with her wandering around the studio like a lost sheep.  She needed her shepherd to lead her.  To help guide her.

He stopped his thoughts, sniffing at the air deeply.  There.  There was the barest trace of her scent.  He had almost missed it as his scent had almost overpowered her natural scent.  A slight oversight on his side, but now He knew that she could blend in with the rest of the scent of the studio.  At least she would be slightly protected, if from his minions at least.

Well, turns out her little shepherd wasn’t too bad, was He?

Slowly limping down the secret tunnel that branched off of the trail, he followed the fresh, combined scent of her and Him, savouring it.  “Soon, my little lamb.  Soon I will be with you again… and I’ll make you never want to leave again.”


	9. Chapter Nine - the Build Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just discovered that Bendy has claimed you. In a way his bite and claim protects you from his other minions, but on the other hand... well. You don't want to think about that.
> 
> You continue on with your journey when you discover that you are no longer alone in the studio. That someone is following you.
> 
> Bendy is here for his little pet. Are you ready to be a good girl and return to him? Or perhaps you wish to do things the hard way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was coming out too long so I decided to cut it in half again. We'll get to the real action with the next chapter...
> 
> And the rest of this story has been finished being plotted out~

Shortly after the little ink demon disappeared, you continued creeping along the path. It seemed to be a bunch of individual offices.  Desks and chairs, all piled this way and that.  More little hints and clues to what had occurred here so long ago.  By now, you had a little bit of an idea of what happened, though you still couldn’t be completely sure.

 

If there was someone who was an outsider to your little town, they would wonder why no one had seen or heard of the horrors in the studio before now.  If so many people disappeared or were killed, wouldn’t there be their family to miss them?  There had to be people that they were looking after?  Yes… but the town itself was shrouded by myths and superstition.  Shortly after Henry, your father, left the studio, it was rumoured to be haunted.  Things went bump in the night, sometimes people would hear a loud shriek… this was nothing new to the town.  Just another artifact that would need to be treated with the respect that it deserved. The woman at the end of the road had been old, living a long, extended lifetime, rumoured to have been a witch. And then there were others who lived in the town who supposedly practiced summoning arts.  Yes, this town was like a magnet’s draw for those who believed in the superstition.

 

Anyone who entered here must have met with the same fate, leaving the townspeople to their suspicions.  You had heard the talk of dark satanic rituals, sacrifices, or even human trafficking in the studio, but had assumed that they were simply created to keep kids away from the dangers.  That was until you realized that there were kids and adults who never returned.  Only the brave and or stupid entered, usually they never to be seen again.  That’s would explain why the townspeople had simply boarded up the studio. 

 

When the ink creatures were chasing you, they had been absolutely ruthless in their pursuit.  They would drive you into corners and try to press you, trap you against a wall, drive you down the stairs.  Reaching out with their long, inky hands.  Slashing at you with fingers and nails, or, in the case of the Murder Gang, whatever weapon had been melded to their oozing, disgusting bodies. They seemed to hate you.  You could only assume that your father had undergone some of the same treatment when he had arrived.  These monsters seemed to absolutely _loath_ humans.  You couldn’t sense any humanity within them.  The Boris that had helped you was the one with the most humanity out of all of them.  They must have hunted down the people that worked here, killing them one by one until none of them reminded.  Though, you could only assume that not all the workers were killed outright.  It would have been impossible, given the size of the studio and the number of people that they had working here in your father’s time, that they would have been able to launch a devastating attack against everyone at the same time.  It was very possible that some had managed to escape for the time being.  And, with the desks and chairs in such positions, you supposed that some of the survivors might have tried to use them as a fortress against the creatures, or at least as barricades as they attempted to run to get help.  Only to eventually succumb to their injuries or to an attack.

 

Joey… you shuddered as the face of the laughing skull entered your mind.  Your father had said that he had been in a wheelchair his entire life.  He had some sort of rare heart condition where the heart muscles were weak.  Any sort of excess or sudden stimulus could send him into palpitations, or worse.  And his legs, how had your dad explained it to you…. his legs were born dead.  Thus the wheelchair that he had always used. 

 

Joey had been hidden inside a crack in the wall, his body seemingly untouched by the other monsters around the studio.  Yet, there was no wheelchair around him.  In your mind, that left one of two things.  One, which was entirely possible, the ink creatures had grabbed the chair, needing it for parts or whatever else.  Or two, and your gut was leaning towards this one, someone had pulled or carried Joey inside the crack, hiding him.

 

But if that was the case, who?

 

The air suddenly went cold and damp, an electric current shimmering through the little room you were in.  Slowly, the dreaded feeling spread down the hallway.  Gradually the room began to darken, a threatening feel slowly taking over the place. 

 

You instantly froze in place, too fearful to even move a muscle.  Listening intently, eyes wide open, yet your teeth were chattering.  You knew the signs all too well now…

 

There, slowly coming towards you, you heard it.  The sound of wet, dragging sound on damp wood, the sound of ink dripping from the roof to the floor, the sound of thick puddles forming.  You could hear the sound of a slow heart rate, thundering deeply, even echoing down the hallway.  A shallow, wheezing breath.

 

You could feel your stomach drop and clench deep inside of you, your own heart began to thunder in your chest.

 

_BENDY._

How had he found you?  And so quickly?  You were sure that you had stayed out of the cut-out’s eyes, even the toys.  You had to be missing some sort of information on him.  Something that had led him directly to you.  But no time for that.  There was no sign a Miracle station anywhere close by, and he probably had his other enhanced senses too.

 

Yet you couldn’t stand around doing nothing!  That was asking to be found, to be taken and dragged off again… asking to be…

 

No.  You weren’t going there.  He had violated you once.  You weren’t going to let that happen again.  You were a fighter, that’s how your father had raised you to be.  Not just lay there and take it!

 

Yet… time was running out.  Bendy was approaching with every step.  You could practically hear the hiss of his breath now, see his white bow tie bobbing in the distance.  What could you do?  You had to do something about your scent, and hide out of his reach.  Taking a deep breath you surveyed the room.  You had to be calm, no matter what.  The calmer you were, the quieter your heart rate…

 

You eyed the formation of desks that were off to the side of the hallway with growing urgency.  It would have to do.  Quickly you took your first step.  And then you took another.  You watched the floor just as much as you watched Bendy’s slow, calculated approach.  He was taking his time, walking in a leisurely pace as he stalked the studio, full of self-assurance.  Avoiding those floor boards with loose nails or screws, you somehow made it to the desk pile.  Quietly stumbling over to it, with significant hurry.  You stepped over pieces of chairs, dodging piles of papers, careful not to bump or cause any of them to squeak or fall.  That would be pointless and give away your location… 

 

Bendy was even closer now!

 

Resisting the urge to whimper, you shifted your weight, clambering over the makeshift shelter.  As you pushed yourself between the jumble of chair legs and desk pieces, a soft flutter caught your eye.

 

A jacket.

 

Taking no chances, you grabbed it, pulling it free from where it was wedged and pulling it on.  Slipping the hood over your hair and most of your face, you jammed your hands into the pockets, cowering into one of the corners of the desks.  You could feel something small and hard in one of the pockets.  Probably a pack of cigarettes, you would investigate that later. 

 

The jacket was soft and warm, obviously well-loved.  There was a faint smell of tobacco to it and musty fabric.  Good.  It would help hide your scent or sound or however else Bendy was using to track you in this fucking place.

 

Bendy was right behind you.  The demon’s movements had paused, the ink continuing to drip around you, puddle where it had gathered.

 

Just barely you could hear his low voice.  He was calling out for you again.

 

“Little treat, where did you go?  There is no need to hide from me.  Did you not enjoy your time with a demon?” the voice asked, a slight jeer heard with the tone.  There was a low chuckle and a sound of a chair being pushed out of the way.  “Come on out, little pet.  Let me try again.  Demons are very selfish lovers.  I’ll make sure…. you enjoy every second this time.”  Slowly you raised one sleeve, covering your mouth.  You couldn’t let one word out, not a peep!  Bendy continued to bend over the chairs and desks, pushing slightly against them, still saying those disgusting, vile words.

 

You were worried that he was going to come around the other side.  You hadn’t slipped on this jacket until just before you hid under the desk, you had to have left a mark elsewhere.  A scent, a hair even.  Why was he so attracted to this one spot?

 

Something needed to be done… you needed to do something!

 

Reaching into your pockets you desperately, quietly searched.  The air was damp with ink, the scent filled with its fumes.  It was making you light-headed and weak.  Your fingers felt thick and sluggish, your movements slow, your…

 

The tips brushed against something smooth, small and solid.  Pulling it out, you discovered that it was a nickel.  Some change leftover from when you went out last with your friends.  It seemed like another lifetime ago.

 

And now… now this was your greatest chance.

 

You looked out the desk drawer.  As was customary with other desks of this time period, the drawers had been completely removable, without backing.  It provided you with a bit of a porthole out.  Bendy’s lanky body was just moving out of the way, slowly coming around to the other side of the desks and chairs.

 

Now was a good of time as any.

 

With a small fling, you tossed the nickel.

 

As if in slow motion, the silver coin flew through the air, a slight whistle as it continued along its way.  With a small “thunk”, it struck one of the wooden legs of a table…

 

One that was half a room away.

 

Bendy stopped moving and turned to face the sound, his head cocking to the side like a dog’s.  “Little treat, how did you manage to get all the way over there?”  There was a sinister chuckle, Bendy’s mouth expanding a little larger.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’ll be there soon, my pet…”

 

Slowly, almost leisurely he walked towards the sound, his sick, little words still following him.

 

Walking down the part of the hallway that you were about to follow.

 

Allowing yourself a soft sigh, you allowed yourself to readjust your seat, get more comfortable.  You knew that he would walk back this way once he didn’t find you in the opposite direction.  He’d assume that you tricked him and made your way out of the hallways, or he’ll have to do whatever he does to look through his peepholes.   There was nothing that you could do before he came back.  You would need to wait until he passed by again before you could continue on your journey.  If you didn’t…

 

Well you didn’t need to think of that now.

 

Instead you resettled your hands in your new pockets, getting ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.  There it was again.  That small, rectangular object in your pocket… well a lit cigarette could always distract Bendy long enough to escape… as you wondered if this ink was flammable, you pulled the object out of your pocket.

 

Only to discover that it wasn’t a cigarette package at all.  It was a small notepad, one of those that would fit comfortably in a pocket but would be easy to lose.  You turned it round in your hands, noting the thick green cardboard front, splattered slightly with ink, the rest of the pages yellowed with age.  Flipping it open, you saw a name printed on the inside of the cover:

 

Norman Polk.

 

Adjusting yourself so you could have better light, you began to read.


	10. Chapter Ten - A Snapshot in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While hiding from Bendy, you have come across the journal of Norman Polk. He worked with Joey and your father many years ago on the Little Dancing Devil project as a projectionist. He would oversee the final project and assist with music as necessary. Now, all you have left of him is this little notebook. Seeking answers, you have opened it and begun to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully beginning to establish a timeline now! And little hints to what happened to Henry when he disappeared on the studio.

March 6th, 1965:

The nurses and doctors aren’t sure what exactly is wrong with me.  I’ve been shuffled to more specialists than my insurance or paycheque can cover, and no one has a clue what is wrong with me.  They keep tossing around these big, fancy names and diseases but there is one word that sticks with me.

 

Cancer.

 

It just… It can’t be.  I’m the one person that doesn’t smoke around here, doesn’t chew tobacco.  The boys all make fun of me for it, saying that I buy into the crap that smoking is bad for you and all.  Though being surrounded by this tarry ink all day, that probably cancels out all the health benefits (if there are any) to not smoking.

 

The doctor I am currently seeing is concerned that it is my job, and dealing with Joey and Sammy here seem to be affecting it.  Aggravating it. He was mighty concerned with my role as a projectionist.  “Looking into the lens and bright lights all day,” he says, “it’s bad for the body,” he says.  I don’t know how that could possibly be the case but he’s the one who bought the medical certificate… and as long as we can eliminate that terrible name… I do my job, he does his I suppose.

 

Whenever my attacks strike, the doctor tells me to find a cool, dark area.  Sit and let it pass for a bit.  Looks like my knowledge of the “ins and outs” of this studio will come in handy. 

 

Anyways, they asked me to keep track of my days.  See when exactly the headaches and hallucinations start.  Write a little diary or journal.

 

As if I wasn’t teased enough by the other guys…

 

Well.  It was better when Henry was around here.  Here’s hoping that his… situation doesn’t last too much longer.  If so, what a waste of talent.

 

April 7, 1965:

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.  Joey has been breathing down all of our necks, trying to make sure that the characters are on model, and being overly worried that the animation isn’t as smooth as the next guys.  I understand where the man is coming from, trying to pay the bills and taxes is one thing, but trying to make sure that the rest of us get paid?  No wonder he is in such a tizzy.  We haven’t had a full paycheque in months it seems, and there is always a letter with ‘final notice’ stamped across it.

 

The man who does all the numbers had a breakdown the other day.  The screaming and yelling, I’m sure he threw something too.

 

Joey is counting on us bringing back the old cartoons, the ones that he and Henry enjoyed as kids.  The next Walt Disney he swears.  “One day kids would be clambering over themselves to grab a plush of a demon!  Not just one of that stupid mouse!”  Perhaps that would be the day that the factory downstairs finally sees some product movement.

 

The way I see it, Joey is putting too much stress on the whole project.  Very few cartoons or actors make it big.  We were lucky to pick up Susie, a real, experienced voice actor.  Sure she has a few nuts and bolts loose but, when you look at the rest of the crew, who doesn’t?  She fits in here and Joey seems to like her.  At least, for the time being.

 

Had another attack today.  Sammy kicked us all out of the music studio again and by the first plunk of the guitar my vision was closing off.  Took me almost an hour to calm down, for the pain to stop.  By the time I had reappeared, Sammy had not.  What does he do in that little room for so long?  All it is a little auditorium, nothing special about it.  With the rebuild, there has to be at least three of those around.  What is so special about this one?

 

Irritating.  I have half a mind to talk to Joey about him but, Joey too hasn’t been doing too good.  I think all the stress is getting to him too.  His heart just can’t take it.  I’m a little worried for him.

 

Though I have started the construction of my so-called Safe Houses.  Just places where I can go and relax, curl up with my head on my lap and close my eyes for a bit.  Where people know that they aren’t to bother me in them.  I have one in almost every room now, off to the side so it doesn’t interfere with the equipment or other things that people are bringing in for Bertie’s park.

 

April 27th, 1965:

Always important note to self.  If you are going to complain about other co-workers, make sure that the other said co-worker isn’t kissing up to the boss.

 

It started off as a normal day.  Sammy kicked us out of the music hall again and this time, this time I had it.  I stomped my way over to Joey and told him everything.  How Sammy has been sneaking around, kicking us out when we are trying to do our work, the weird symbols we’ve been finding.  And you want to know what he said?

 

“Surely it can’t be difficult to find something else to do while he’s busy, is there?”

 

Really?  For one who is worried about deadlines and the quality of work, he cannot see how this will all be affected if the music department cannot do their work?  Why does Sammy need to be in there anyway, at that specific time?  Is he not hired on as an artist?

 

I had an attack shortly afterwards, finding solace in the one secret hiding spot between the two departments.  This one took longer to fade away.  Perhaps the nurses and doctors are right.  This could be linked to stress and the job, Sammy and Joey certainly aren’t helping me out at all.

 

Perhaps it is time to look for employment elsewhere.

 

May 1, 1965:

It’s easy to see that I shouldn’t have approached Mr Joey about Sammy’s going ons.  They sneak off every moment that they can together, always whispering together like a couple of school girls.  If not for Alice and Susie I could have sworn that Joey and Sammy… well.  I cannot say that, even in writing.  I could get in trouble for that.  They are always huddled over a book about miraculous healing or some other voodoo book “The Illusion of Living”.  I’m not sure what exactly they are planning or going to attempt, but if they manage to heal Joey, I would love it if they would work that magic on me too.

 

Headaches are getting worse.  There’s light behind my eyes now when they strike.  Perhaps the doctor was right.  Maybe it is my job and the stress linked to it.

 

If only I could walk off the job, never to return.

 

May 2, 1965:

The footage we played was funny today.  I couldn’t put my finger on it but when we played it, it seemed like a few of the background creatures, specifically the Butcher Gang, seem to be missing, and the little devil himself seemed more aware.  I swore he looked right at me when I dropped my pen.  Gave me a little bit of a panic before I chided myself.  He’s just a moving animation.  He’s not alive.

 

I know it sounds stupid, and it could be my imagination, but still.  I have a bad feeling about this.  Between Joey and Sammy’s choice in reading, it has me completely on edge.

 

Susie is missing.  Didn’t show up for work today.  Completely unlike her.  I hope she’s ok.  If Joey has done anything to her…

 

Well.  She told me that she always had terrible taste in men.

 

June 3, 1965:

There is definitely sounds coming from below the basement.  Though that itself is impossible, there shouldn’t be anything underneath that.  But yet, there they are.  Snarls and growls, sometimes even a shouted curse.  It almost sounds like the voices that we had originally tried to get for the Butcher Gang Members.  They are so realistic too.  Sometimes you can even hear the slight exhale of breath.

 

Normally I would dismiss it as myself going crazy.  But I’m not the only one this time.  Tom has confirmed that he hears something too.  Sometimes he even hears a muffled bark.

 

The stink of the ink must be making us all crazy.  Hearing things, seeing things, people acting out of character, and then Sammy, Joey?  It is the only explanation.  Ink must be toxic…. I’ll have to scope around a little more, see what is really going on.

 

In the meantime, I’ll keep seeing my doctor.  The headaches and hallucinations are getting worse.

 

June 5, 1965:

I finally figured it out.  I somehow made it into Sammy’s little office while he and Joey were off doing God knows what.  There was his book full of a language that I couldn’t understand, but what looked like that foreign hymn that the other faiths try to hand out on the street.  His top desk was full of candles, full of scrap paper with sketches and other symbols.  The second drawer was full of our “offerings” from our desks.  The third drawer was locked but luckily his door key opened it.  It had the Illustration of Living book in it.  Written by Joey.  Joey and Sammy.  It wasn’t until I opened up the book that things clicked into place.

 

It was full of instructions on where to place candles, put offerings.

 

Sammy and Joey are actually praying to Bendy, asking him to heal them, come and save them.  Bendy-Bendy.  As in Bendy the little ink devil.  Our little animation cartoon?  I don’t understand why they would.  But suddenly those little things off around the office are making sense.  Those little drawings on the walls?  The book?  Those are satanic symbols or full of incantations.  They are trying to bring him to life, make him their “Lord and Savior”. 

 

Joey’s writings are completely delusional, even worse than the tax man’s breakdown.  They ramble about Bendy appearing, healing him, about him coming to life and showing us the way to animate him properly.  How he can give him the audience that Bendy deserves. 

 

I don’t know what sort of planet that they are living on but I want no part of it.  If I could I would quit.  It would be better for my health, and for my mental state if I could.  I had no idea that they were this loose.  Henry… I wonder if Henry knew.  He always spoke so highly of Joey.

 

July 1965:

I write this hurriedly, in case the scratching sound of the pen draws them close again.  I need to keep a record, let the outside know of what happened to us.  Of this studio.

 

Tom and I confronted Joey about the noises.  We found him in front of that damned Ink Machine or whatever he and Sammy call it.  The noises could no longer be ignored anymore.  They were getting louder, more distinct.  We were hearing complete words.  Help me was very common.  The bastard didn’t even try to deny it.  He knew exactly what we were talking about it.

 

That’s when he said it.  This whole story… this whole charade that he and Sammy had done.

 

The Ink Machine didn’t just produce the ink for our pens.  It was also producing the creatures that we drew.  Countless number of monsters and creatures.  It kept producing them until they were considered perfect and then it would move onto the next creature.  All those voices, they were voices calling out for help.  Failures in the machine’s eyes.  Listen to me, saying the machine’s eyes as if it were alive.

 

But it was all through Joey and Sammy’s will.  They needed the creature to be perfect.  Some of the failures were even sacrificed back to the ink pool.  All for another attempt.  It makes me sick thinking of it.

 

Susie, poor Susie.  I’m not exactly sure how it happened but…. Apparently, she had gone searching for Joey and she had fallen into the pool.  Joey had not seen her reappear yet.  If she will.  The ink in that machine is hot.  I pray that she met a quick end and wasn’t drawn out.  Joey had no concern when he spoke of her, he spoke like he did the weather.

 

That’s when Sammy appeared, checking up on us.  He began to cackle when he saw our faces.  “Do not worry, our Lord will rise soon, and our work shall not be in vain.”  He told us.  “Perhaps he would even fix your head, Norman!” he chuckled, holding his sides as if in glee.  Joey began to laugh too, eyes wide open.  It looked like the very devil had taken over him.

 

That’s when the Ink Machine sputtered and spat, wheezing and coughing.  With a mighty retch, it spat up hot ink.  I couldn’t speak for Tom but when the ink began to drip from the walls itself, I got a bad feeling in my gut.  The air chilled around us and the ink slowly rose with a growl.

 

“BENDY HAS RISEN!” the little shit Sammy cried out as the devil himself was rising from the ink.  I could already tell that he was deformed.  His body was too long and skinny, he was “off character” or whoever else Joey used to describe the art that wasn’t perfect.  “HAIL OUR LORD.  HE WILL SHOW US THE WAY TO SAL…”

 

Bendy seized Sammy by the front and dunked him in the ink puddle in front of us.  Sammy was screaming for mercy, screaming for his life.  All while the sound and smell of sizzling flesh filled the room.

 

Truth be told I’m not exactly sure what happened that day.  The next thing I’m aware of is Joey and I hiding in one of the special areas, listening to the sounds of running and screams.  It seems as if the ink creatures broke free that day, swearing their revenge upon everyone.  Joey could only stare into space, muttering about how it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

 

I don’t know how many of us were left that day, if any.  But every time I tried to approach the door I was met by those damn ink creatures.  Those Searchers and the Butcher Gang… they are keen on hunting down every piece of living flesh that they can find.  And Bendy, he constantly does his rounds.  He seems to have complete control over the ink.  The walls become covered by it, and that is my warning to make my way to the little safe houses I built.  Turns out the “Great and Mighty” Ink Demon is completely blind!  You get in those safe houses and his own heart rate should cover the sound of yours.

 

But Joey is dead.  I went to grab food and water from the little staff room and, by the time I returned, he had suffered a heart attack.  May God forgive him and allow him peace.

 

Things are getting bad, my attacks are getting worse and I’m almost out of food and water.  I have no idea how much longer that I’ll survive for.  I’ve been blessed to make it this far but yet…

 

* * * * *

 

There was a long pen stroke on the final word, one that travelled to the end of the page.  Norman must have jumped, hid the book in the jacket and then… well.  It seemed like Norman never got to finish his journal entry.  You sigh as you close the notebook, stroking the cover softly. The last records of the people who worked here.  It felt so heavy, the symbolism of it.

 

So Joey and Sammy had summoned Bendy here.  You knew upon meeting Sammy that he was more than a little obsessed with the ink demon but Joey?  Your father had always said that he had a good head on his shoulders. What could have driven him to fall into worship?  Into satanic rituals?  Perhaps with his medical condition getting worse, he was getting more desperate, willing to try anything.

 

A harsh light suddenly came up from behind you, bathing you in a bright, horrific halo.  A loud screech sounded, along with the pausing of light footsteps.

 

You froze.  You were so absorbed in the little notebook that you had forgotten where you were.  The danger.  Who else you were hiding from.  Slowly you turned around, gripping tight to the little jacket and book.

 

The Projectionist stood behind you, his bright light focused completely on you.

 

He lunged towards you, a single arm outstretched towards you.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Bad Camera Angle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While reading through Norman's journal, the Projectionist has managed to sneak up behind you. Now you're on the run again, trying to avoid this monstrosity while trying to not attract the attention of a certain Ink Demon.
> 
> But still, the Studio has not yet revealed to you all of it's secrets. Joey had been very busy, very busy indeed.
> 
> Luckily, you have what could be a guardian angel on your side... or maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had originally decided to publish this later but changed my mind because I was so happy with how this turned out. Hopefully you enjoy!

 

With a yelp, you leapt backward, putting some desperate space between you and the monster.  Your heart was thundering in your chest and you could already feel the return of adrenaline to your system.  You had thought you had seen the last of him when you had collected those disgusting, slimy ink hearts for Angel.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time that this studio had an unpleasant surprise hidden just for you.

 

Without further warning, the Projectionist leaped forward at you, his hand still outstretched to grab you.  Lucky for you, the pile of desks was still the perfect shield.  His hips and waist cracked against the hard surface of one of the desks, making him off balance.  With a small, distorted howl, the rest of the Projectionist’s body fell on the surface of the desk, landing with a small splat.  A few trickles of ink dripped from his body, slowly running off the edge.  His light was still on though.  So he was down, but not out.  Already he was raising his body, ink repairing the small scratches, preparing to climb over the desks to get to you.

 

This may be your one and only chance.

 

Scrambling backward to your feet, your ankle once again beginning to groan in protest, you ran.  Ignoring the loud, desperate scream, one that could only come from something inhuman, you continued on. You ran straight down the way you came, not bothering with the tunnel any longer.  At least you knew this way, knew where the cut outs were, knew where to avoid.  And Bendy had headed in the opposite way so you didn’t have to worry about him.  He would be busy for a while. 

 

Despite your ankle, you were moving at a quick pace.  Skidding around corners and slipping through ink, you continued on.  Every step counted.  Every step meant more distance between you and it. The softened boards quieted your footsteps, the boards even slicker after Bendy’s round.

 

 

 

But with every step you took, you slowly gained distance on him.  You shouldn’t kid yourself.  The Projectionist was fast, but he had a bobbing pace, one that jerked him side to side, forward and back.  Probably trying to balance the weight of the projection machine on his shoulders.  That couldn’t be light.  Whatever this demon was or who he had been, he had been very strong.

 

That alone might be your biggest advantage over him.

 

Judging by the familiar cry and the slowly fading sound of footsteps, you knew that your advantage wouldn’t last forever.  He was probably already around the table and running after you.  Trying to kill you.  Such was the way of these ink demons.  Or what was it that Norman called them again?  Seekers.  Seekers and the Butcher Gang members.

 

Skidding around a corner you felt your ankle give a small crack but you pushed yourself onwards.  Every step mattered to you.  Forcing your ankle onwards, begging it to last just a little while longer.  You knew that this wasn’t the best for it but you couldn’t exactly afford to stop in the middle of the hallway.  If you could find a proper hiding spot you would rest, elevating it as you decided on your next move.  With a great step, you were out of the tunnel.  Finding yourself back in the main tunnel, before the small offshoot that sheltered Joey’s body, you realized that there was two other branches – both a right and left tunnel.  It sort of reminded you of the choice of the Demon or the Angel passageway.  You knew that the right tunnel would simply take you back to the music department, destroying any progress that you had made.  Hearing a distant sound of slopping footsteps behind you, the choice was easy.  The left… the left would be the way to go.

 

As you hobbled your way into the tunnel, a stray thought crossed your mind.  Why was this monster so much more focused on you than before?  He had been a stealthy hunter before but now he was actually following you.  Was it because of the scent of… well.  No time to think of that.  Other things.  Time and place for everything.

 

Ducking into the left tunnel, you dodged old crates blocking parts of the tunnel, ignoring the numerous cans of bacon soup, rubble, and small plushies.  Instead, you continued to focus on putting as much distance between you and the Projectionist as possible.  All while keeping your eyes peeled, looking for any place to hide and recover.

 

Finally.  There was a small sign, so small that you could have missed it.  A metal door labeled “Storage 9” was open up ahead, looking like it led into a new room.  And where there was a room, there had to be a safe house or at least other tunnels.  More options to hide, make him lose you in this maze.  You ran towards it.

 

Without warning, bright light flooded your vision, temporarily blinding you for the moment with the after burn.  It was real light, not just the dim, flickering candle light that you were used to around the studio.  Rubbing at your burning eyes, you looked around.  Lightbulbs were everywhere, bathing the entire opening in artificial, but gratefully bright light.  It looked a bit like the carnival that came to your small town annually.  There were games of every kind shoved into the small area, and even a banner that read Bendy Land.  Though Land was crossed out and messily replaced with Hell, a name that suited the area and studio better as a whole you thought.  Heh.  Someone was clever.  The masks of the beloved three characters lining the walls, as did costumes and other merchandise.  There were smiling Bendy faces that grinned at you from every possible, conceivable angle.

 

Ok.  You had to hand it to Joey.  Even without your father, he really had big ideas for the little cartoon.  Bendy Bacon Soup, toys, the other merchandise and now… rides and games and even half put together mechanics.  The overthrow of the staff by the ink creatures must have been devastating and sudden. 

 

Ok.  Marvel at everything another time.  The Projectionist was who-knows where at this point.  Time to find a hiding hole.  Moving forward, you had to admit that you couldn’t hear him now.  There was no scream, no sluggish footsteps.  Despite the situation, you began to feel something that felt like relief and you allowed yourself to slow.  Take your time.  Don’t make any rash decisions.  Carefully take in the environment around you.

 

Limping your way through the mess of carnival supplies, you began to notice that the tangled wires on the floor seemed to have an electrical current running through them, leading all over the opening.  The lightbulbs were working, the majority of them not even burned out, but if everything was live…

 

Well, you thought, carefully watching the half-finished robots as you walked by them.  You really hoped that those robots won’t be coming to life any time soon.  It was bad enough listening for soft footsteps and watching for ink to start bleeding from the walls.

 

There was one wire in particular that you were following.  It clung to the edge of the room, running the entire distance of the room, before disappearing into another open room.

 

“… Research and Design?” you whispered to yourself, reading the sign above the door.  Design… possibly design for the carnival rides and robots though you can see it also being used for meetings about Joey’s ideas for the toys.  That would mean that it had to store the excess equipment and supplies.  You could imagine hiding your aching body behind some crates or metal, waiting for the Projectionist or Bendy to pass by.

 

Yes.  This room sounded promising indeed.

 

*

 

As you slowly limped into the large hallway from the opening, you missed seeing the long, lean shadow of a familiar enemy silently standing a floor above you.  Watching you.  Nor was there disguising the disgusting sneer on her face as she watched you slowly disappear. 

 

Her face was still badly disfigured, one eye missing, half her skin almost melted away, and her halo mangled and broken, but there was no mistaking her basic form.  Of who she should have been.  Her hair was long and dark, flowing to just past her shoulders.  Her dress was dark with white bows, although covered in ink and gore.  She gripped the handrails tightly, slightly quivering in rage.  She had been so sure that you had died in the fall.  After she had grabbed the Boris, she hadn’t seen or heard of you.  Nor had any of her pathetic minions reported to have seen you.

 

And yet, here you were.  As clear as day.  More than a little beaten up and an oddly shaped bruise blooming and slowly traveling on your neck and arm, but here nonetheless.  Here to foil her plans, yet again.

 

Why was everyone getting in her way of being beautiful?  Of her taking what she deserved!  She was The Alice Angel!  No matter what that stupid bitch Alison thought!  She was THE Real Alice Angel, the demon that had been sent from above.  Everyone that had seen her knew who she was.  She was the one that had breathed life into her first.  It was her right!

 

 “Hopefully you enjoy your little games as long as you can,” she whispered, tossing her hair behind her shoulder and returning to her darkness.  “You won’t be playing them for much longer.”  She would ensure that an old friend of hers would make sure of that.

 

*

 

The dark little tunnel was far from what you had imagined.  It had lead you to a large open, room, one that was thickly coated in dust.  It was the furthest thing from a Research and Design room that you could think of.  There was no tables or diagrams, not even a lone piece of tin was in the area.  Instead it reminded you a bit of a conference hall.  Multi-floored, it was large and open, the hallway you were on flowing into a boardwalk that lined completely around the perimeter of the room.  Limping onto the boardwalk, moving closer to the open area of the room, you saw three of the Butcher Gang members clustered around a fire….

 

And a single familiar looking footprint on the floor, leading further into the room below.  The ink had caught it surprisingly well, staining it on the wooden floor, marking it clear as day.  No mistaking it.

 

With a small gasp you ran down the stairs, crouching by the print.  It was about a size eight running shoe, the tread worn and thin.  As you stared at it, your heart beginning to flutter in your chest.  The Butcher members had shuffled eagerly towards you, making loud chattering noises before they too scattered at the sight and smell of the bruise on your neck.  You ignored them, refused to pay them any attention.  How often had you teased him about his taste in shoes?  This had to be your father’s print.  He had owned the same pair of shoes since you were young, always claiming that they were good enough and still in good condition even though the rubber was slowly flaking off of the side of it.  He hated not using anything to the end.  You had always speculated that it was from THOSE days but you never asked.

 

It was best not to bring back those memories if you could help it.

 

There was a quiet, distant cry, jerking you back to the present.  The little ink creatures looked between you and it, already slowly shuffling off to the edge of the room.  Were they hiding?  Why?  They were one of the most violent ink creatures here.  If they themselves were hiding…

 

Then it was damn time for you to find a place to hide too.

 

You jogged into the tunnel, one that would hopefully lead into the next room, still ignoring your ankle’s protests.  In this next room.  The next room you would find a hiding spot.  You could feel it.  You would wait for him, whichever him it was, to pass and then you would continue on.

 

There was all sorts of odds and ends in this tunnel.  A few more robotic Bendy parts, some bumper cars and other tools.  No hiding spots yet.  You wouldn’t be able to move behind the cars without having something stick out.  Slightly more hurried, you continued on.  Checking every corner, every shelf.  There wasn’t even a safe house in this area.  Norman must not have come down this way when he was alive.

 

Norman… your mind began to wander as you began to search in more of a panic.  You knew, deep down inside of you, that when you saw the Sammy toon that it was the same Sammy that your father had worked with so many years ago.  There had been something profoundly human about him.  He had described saying that his body was abyss… like he was still unused to it.  Both Norman and your father had described him as “Bendy-obsessed”, so it would make sense that he would declare himself as a prophet of his so-called lord.

 

You accidently knocked over a toolbox as you continued to search.  With a wince at the noise that it caused, you began to run into the next room.  You didn’t want to stay in the same room as you unlucky beckon.

 

Your mind continued to race, picking at some trail of information.  Sammy the prophet, he was supposedly dead, or at least Norman had initially considered him as such.  But Norman had only described seeing Bendy push Sammy into the hot ink of the machine.  Bendy and the other toons hadn’t actually killed him unlike the others that worked there.  Sammy had screamed, but Norman hadn’t seen him die.  He had grabbed Joey and ran to hide. 

 

It was almost the same with Susie.  She had fallen into the hot ink, as explained by Joey himself, but there was never a body discovered.

 

And with both Sammy and Joey practicing both satanic and healing arts… you had read somewhere that it was easier to make a new form than heal an old one.  It took less energy, less time and materials to simply try over than try and figure out what was wrong with the old copy.  How many times has this happened in a business model?  People don’t have the resources or money to find out why something is failing?  Shut it down.  Something wrong with a car?  Scrap it and move to the next model.  An endless cycle of new vs the old.

 

What if the Ink Machine was the same way?  It had attempted to produce numerous copies of the same character until perfection was achieved, at least until Bendy was produced.  That must have taken time and effort.  Yet there was only one Sammy, and one angel.  You could imagine it taking the bodies it was given and using them to form the others.  If… if your theory was correct, that could mean that the Projectionist….

 

Well, there was only one person that he could be.

 

Throwing your head over your shoulder to watch the exit, just to make sure of your escape, you missed seeing the low branch of metal, hanging exactly at head level for you.  With a loud clang, you ran face first into it.  The smell of iron and blood filed your nose, even as it felt like your entire body shuddered.  As darkness and stars took over your eyesight, you fell to the floor, looking at the ruined arms of some sort of ride.  How… how had you missed that?  Not looking where you put your feet as your dad would say.

 

Hopefully no one would see you here.  They could just consider you part of the wreckage.  Your head really hurt and the bright lights… they just made it worse.  Maybe you could nap it off.  You would be still enough, perhaps others would think you dead?  Or even just part of the ride’s destruction.

 

Losing the battle with your heavy eyelids, you gave yourself into the darkness.

 

* * * * *

 

The classroom was stuffy as always.  Perhaps it was a rule of your university, you thought to yourself, doodling in the corner of your paper, that all lecture halls needed to be stuffy, hot and incredibly uncomfortable.  God knows that it wasn’t the teacher’s first choice of environments.  Mr. Adam’s balding head was littered with shine, small beads of sweat running from the top of his crown, and down his neck.  He looked as uncomfortable as everyone in the room.  And yet, he continued on with his lesson.

 

“Aphorism.  An aphorism is an expression or a quote that expresses a moral, truthful principle about the world around the author, or you the reader.  It is generally accepted as a general truth.  These are commonly slipped into everyday speech, often without the speaker batting an eye.  For example, it was the famous rock band, The Rolling Stones, that first came up with the ever popular, ‘You can’t always get what you want’ aphorism that everyone seems to throw around these days.  All is fair in love and war.  Measure twice, cut once.  You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.  Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t.  There are of course countless more, but if I listed them all off, we’d be here forever.  So.  Your challenge when you write this essay is to avoid using these overused sayings.  I want you to be creative.  Think outside the box!” he said to the collective groans of the crowd.  Adams thought himself so funny…

 

* * * * *

 

You groaned, rubbing your head, trying to blink the stars from your eyes.  You had run straight into the arm of the destroyed carousel, knocking yourself out.  You were lucky that you hadn’t knocked yourself for very long, but you more than likely had a concussion.  If not from this injury, then from the fall with the elevator.  You were so sore… your entire body ached. 

 

Fuck.  You had known before that you needed to be careful.  Needed to watch out for anything that could do you harm and yet, here you were.  Like a bull in a china shop.  Crashing through your father’s studio with no regard to anything else.  Your mother would have said something about wearing blinders.

 

You stared at the arms of the machine, staring at the screws.  It looked like someone had taken an axe to them.  Forcing the metal to fail.  With a small groan, you rubbed at your eyes again.

 

There was another shrill screech, and the echoing sound of messy, approaching footsteps.  There was a large, dark form headed towards you, a bright light bouncing slightly and becoming larger as it approached.  Seems like Norman… the Projectionist, had finally caught up to you.  But how?  Shit.  You had spent too much time on the ground, must have knocked out longer than you had expected.  With a loud groan, you weakly tried to get to your feet.  You had got away from him twice before, you knew that you could do it again.  He was laden with that large, bulky projector as a head.  You weren’t.  Yes.  You needed to run, get away.  Or at least hide from him until you could move past him.

 

Your ankle shook and at last gave out on you, sending you to the floor.  Shit.  All the running and walking you had done had really taken its toll on it and its injury.  You slowly raised yourself to your hands, trying to brace yourself against the floor, slowly stand, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps.  It didn’t even last a second.  No, it couldn’t handle any of your weight.

 

The Projectionist was already close, reaching out for you.  You could sense the anger and the hostility radiating from him, his dark body.  He would not spare you.  He would kill you.  And you already knew that he would not be detoured as the Seekers and the Butcher Gang were.

 

Still you couldn’t let him just kill you!  That was giving up!  You could almost see the disappointment in your father’s face as you considered it.  There had to be something that you could do… taking a precious second to consider your choices, you watched the ink slowly drip from his fingers, down to the palms of his hands.  He was so close to you…

 

Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t…

 

“BENDY!” you screamed.


	12. Chapter 12 - The Knight vs. The Demon - Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bendy has heard your call, little treat. He does not appreciate your little games with Him, but understands that you were needing extra convincing as to never run away again. He'll forgive you this time, no. He'll do more than that. He'll save you...
> 
> After all, everyone in the studio should know by now who exactly you belong to.
> 
> No excuses.

He jerked up at the sound of his name.  He had been making his way slowly back to the room where he had last sensed her.  He had figured out her little ruse.  Making him run after a sound like a dog, he had plans of punishing her first, and then… well, he had his own plans on making sure that she never wanted to run or hide from him again.  But, her voice… that changed things.  Snuffling softly, He took a couple careful steps forward.  Still no smell or sound of her, and humans were not able to throw their voices as well as demons.  That had to be her voice alright, there was no mistaking it. 

Her voice, crying out for Him!

What made Him pause though was that there was a distinct octave of terror in it, one that shook Him all the way down to His inky core.  One that reminded him of how she sounded when she first saw Him, and then when He had finally captured her, when held her tightly in His arms and took her.  That voice was His, that tone belonged to Him!

So someone else was making her use it.

The thought made His inky blood boil.  That was his!  Who had hurt her?  Who was scaring her?  Who had her?

He swore by the Ink Machine that He would make whoever it was pay, and pay dearly.

Time seemed to slow for the Great Demon.

Carefully, He listened to the echo of her voice, to the sound of a now pounding heart, the roar of blood flowing through its vessels, and the even heavier sound of ink as it slowly traveled though her body. 

There.  There she was.

And he knew exactly what that danger was.  He could hear its inky heart sluggishly beating, cables buzzing, sense the heat coming off of it.  That was one monster he had never gotten to fall into line.  After all this time, it still preferred that stupid, corrupted Angel to Him!

It was long past time to teach that thing a lesson.

Snarling, He closed the remains of His eyes, blind as they were, concentrating on the ink around him.  Reaching deep inside of Him, He summoned the deepest, and the darkest reservoir of His magic.  This type of magic took a lot out of Him, made Him weak and tired, a low equal to His Seekers.  It was why He didn’t use it often, why He preferred to walk or run around the studio during His rounds.  At least than He would have the energy to run or attack.

He could hear it, sense it gathering before him.  He chuckled sinisterly, silently giving praise to His Ink Machine for its many gifts.  The Angel could try and declare him a weak target, but he was anything but.  He had superior hearing and smell, much like the wolf.  And, when he cast this spell, He could see what the ink covered, much like a bat with echolocation, but stronger.  Like a temporary, false sight.

The ink gathering around him began to bubble and pool, more ink dripping free of the pipes and coming to His summons.

He could already feel the sharp drain that it caused on Him.  But if He needed to get to her in time, He had no other option.  Carefully, He concentrated on the room with the remains of Bertrum in it, preparing the teleport.  His mind focused on Bertrum, what this human had done them and how he had assisted the Creators in their torture of his people.

Bertrum had been taken down within the first wave of their attack.  He hadn’t been expecting them yet.  If he was, he wouldn’t be simply at his desk in his studio, sketching some new ride or robot.  He would have seen Charley lumber behind him, grabbing him and holding him as Edger lurched himself at the human.  It had been a meticulously planned attack, one that wasn’t necessary.  Bertrum couldn’t put up a proper fight when his life depended on it.  He was all flash, no bite.  Swears and curses, pleadings and praying to a god that had already turned their back on the demonic studio.  It should have been Bendy Himself that he had been praying and pleading to.  This was Bendyland after all.  He had helped build it, plan it, build it.  He had such plans for them, plans that reviled Joey’s “grand” scheme.  He was just as much to blame as the others for their suffering.  He had more than encouraged it in his own way.  Bendy had judged him for this, and found him guilty.  His punishment was unique, meant to leave a message to those who dared abuse their creations. The Butcher Gang, along with the assistance of His Seekers, had stuffed his head inside his beloved carousel, Bendy Himself sealing his soul within the machine.  If they, the creations of these foul minded humans, couldn’t know eternal rest, than neither would their tormentors.  Bertrum had tried to promise gold and treasures, women and drink.  He could still remember how the man had panicked once his head had been removed from the rest of his torso, yet he was still alive.  Alive with the knowledge that their god had abandoned them here to die and rot.  He had still been screaming as they sealed his head away. A pleased shiver ran up His spine, thinking of the man’s final screams and curses, blaming Joey for his punishment.

He would need to reminisce some other time.

The place… the room… every board that he could see, the tiles that had been carefully placed around the machine, He could already see and feel the placements of the ducks staring at him from around the room.  He could even feel the slimy, light reflecting paint that Joey had insisted the room be painted in.

The ink flew to his hand, glimmering and sparkling in the low light.  It twisted and weaved, forming a small ring, roughly the same size of his hand.  He could see how the light caught the ink, making His magic burn with a higher intensity. Slowly making it more powerful. Impatient now, He twisted His wrist and fingers, summoning more magic, more ink.  Around him, the ink began to rise faster and in more columns, flowing to the little formation He was creating.  Smoothly it entered the ring, making the band wider, the lack of coagulation making the ink flow faster and with greater violence.

At last He had had enough.

With a simple snap of His fingers and flick of His wrist, He sent the twisting ring of ink catering in front of Him.  The ink, no longer bound to the small shape of the ring, expanded with great force, light shattering around the edges of the portal.  Already He could hear her pants of breath, the sound of her heart…

And a familiar sound of heavy, ink footsteps.

With a low shout, he stumbled through the portal, feeling the heat of the Projectionist’s lamp as the monster, Norman, spun around to face him with his own growl.

He should have put him down ages ago…. Traitor to the rest of his kind.

But, He was The Ink Demon, summoned by the Ink Machine itself, and now by the tasty little morsel that had stumbled into His grip… it would be up to Him to rectify the past’s mistakes.

* * * * *

You pressed yourself against the machine, ignoring the ink and what looked to be blood dripping down the machine.  You had long since stopped caring about the state of your clothing.  Your ankle was still throbbing in pain, refusing to accept any weight on it.

All while Norman came closer, his light bobbing as he sprinted his way to you.  One hand outstretched he reached for you…

“PLEASE NORMAN, STOP! STOP CHASING ME! I CAN’T RUN FROM YOU ANYMORE! STOP, PLEASE! OR, IF NOT FOR ME, THAN STOP FOR HENRY! HENRY IS MY FATHER, NORMAN! HE IS DOWN HERE, SOMEWHERE!” you screamed in desperation, tears filling your eyes.  You closed your eyes, expecting pain…

The ink man paused from his sprint, his hand still stretched out towards you.  Frozen he stared directly at you, his light flickering, as if he was trying to gauge if you were telling the truth.  You didn’t dare move or speak another word.  Still curled in a slight ball, your arms raised to protect yourself, you waited.

“He will set us free…” a deep, almost grandfather-y voice said, repeating the words that had been scrawled on the walls of the studio…

But now they held a different meaning.

Your eyes flashed open and you stared at the ink man.  “Norman… you mean…” You looked at him.  Had his humanity at last awoken from whatever coma that the ink had forced it into?

There was a bright flash of light and a clap of what sounded like thunder.  The Projectionist’s light burned brighter and the ink man whirled around, screeching at the ink portal that appeared beside him.  “Run!  I’ll hold him off for you!” he cried out to you.  “Go!” he said as the Ink Demon landed the first blow.


	13. Chapter 13 - A Bad Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn't ink a funny thing? It looks like a relatively simple concept, really. You move a pen across a piece of paper and you make a line. A story. A piece of art... it records a history of where it has been and where it has been moved.  
> But ink is not water. It will slowly poison him from the inside out. Killing him slowly...  
> Or it could be whatever hit his head. That hurts too...
> 
> * * * * * 
> 
> You watch in horror, helpless as Norman slowly becomes disoriented and weak against the great demon of the studio. Yet he does not go quietly into the night. He will show Bendy that there is some fight left in him... he will try his best to protect you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Just dealing with a crazy new work schedule and some insane Writer's Block. If you want, visit my Tumblrs!
> 
> WRITTEN WHILE LISTENING TO:  
> "Uncrowned" by SquigglyDigg, Chi-Chi and DHeusta

He groaned in pain, long and loud, feeling himself slowly wake from a daze of some sorts…. Whatever happened to him. Something flashed in front of his face and he acted instinctively, protecting his head from the blow and attempting to land his own blow.  The blur moved out of reach, disappearing around the fog in his eyes.  Hands up now he glanced about the room, trying to see whatever attacked him.

His head hurt so much.  Attempting to ignore it, he watched the shadows, watching something flicker in and out of his vision.  A blow caught his middle but he was able to return it, landing a solid hit to his attacker’s cheek.  There was a shriek and then the blur was gone again.

Ok… he had to pay attention… his eyes were watering, fogging his vision.  Nothing was making sense.  The studio seemed to be pulsing around him, little flashes of colour.

But that could have been the delirium setting in.

There was another blur.  How many people or monsters were attacking him?

Everything hurt.  Ink was everywhere. It had soaked into his clothing and skin, his shoes and the remains of his hair.  He could feel it inside of him, poisoning him slowly.  He bet that, if he would cough, he would cough up the ink as well.

(How long had it been?) he thought to himself.  The floor was rough but slick under his feet, slick with thick ink and something else it felt like. It was a particular feeling.  Attempting to shift his weight to a different hip, he felt something drip from his body.

Was he injured?  He didn’t recall any injury other than the quick blow to his abdomen. Something or someone must have hit his head, giving him a concussion. He recognized the signs.

At his old job, they were a common occurrence.  He knew what to do, how to treat them.

Don’t sleep, he told himself. He had to find something cold to wrap or dip his head in.  It would take the swelling down.  Allow his brain to heal.

His eyelids were so heavy, his body was heavy, he was so tired and everything hurt.  Especially his head.  What had happened to his head? 

Time made no sense here.  It could have been hours, it could have been days, weeks, months or even years since he last seen the sun.  Since he breathed fresh air.

Since he was free of this damn prison.

Time moved so slowly for him.  It was meaningless now.  Time had no meaning for him, for the studio or the rest of the monsters here.

All that mattered was the constant flow of ink.  Of feeding the numerous pipelines that passed every corner of this damned studio.  The ink demanded it.

He was so weak.  So heavy… so tired. 

Suddenly he moved his body, lunging himself forward.  Something told him to move.  To fight the bone-heavy weariness that was running through his body.  Looking down at himself, even he didn’t even recognize what or who he was.  When had he become covered in ink?  Why did his head hurt so much?  Groaning, he tried to clear his fogged vision but darkness was slowly settling around his sight.

Slowly closing in.

Why was it so hard to remember anything? 

A white face appeared in front of him, a white face framed with darkness.  A sinister chuckle found his ears and he felt a cold, piercing spear of fear pierce the remains of his broken heart.

And then, nothing but complete darkness.  No light…

Just darkness and cold.

* * * * *

You screamed out, your legs pathetic and broken, watching as the two duelling creatures attacked each other.  “NORMAN!” you screamed, watching the demon land another devasting blow the Projectionist.  Why was Norman slowing down? He looked so dazed and confused.  Did that first blow from Bendy really hurt that much?

Or was he simply too old?

Norman stumbled, trying to swing again at Bendy.  You watched as the demon let the blow bounce uselessly off his chest, before lunging forward with both hands, seizing Norman’s neck, just under the projection machine.

No…. your legs twitched as you tried to move them.  You needed to help him. He was a link to your father.  Still, your legs refused to move, anchoring you to the ground.  Forcing you to watch the two titans.

You were helpless.

“NO!”

The projection light flickered and brightened, as if trying to burn off the evil, stun him, or blind the demon, hands coming up to try and pull the other’s hands away.  A final last of defiance.

Bendy chuckled for a moment, pausing in his actions to watch the creature struggle in his hands.  The grin seemed to stretch wider across his star white and ink-stained face. 

That’s when it hit you.

Bendy was worse than you feared.  He was cocky and self-servicing, but he also had a god complex.

There was a loud scream, one that sounded as if an animal was slowly dying, and then the room filled with a bright, burning light.  The light was all-encompassing, burning away the shadows and depth to everything in the room.

It only lasted for a moment.

There was a sickening thud and the sound of something wet and fleshly being deboned.  Your eyes slowly opening, you had no idea when you closed them, you were treated to a sick sight.

Norman’s body lay there, limp and unmoving, a large, dark puddle of ink surrounding him, slowly growing.

Bendy standing above him, holding the projection lamp in his hands like a trophy before tossing it in the deep abyss of the room.  His face slowly turning to look in your direction.

Like he was expecting praise… or a treat.

Your eyes travelled back to Norman.  No… how could this be?  Just a moment ago he had been trying to chase you.  Capture you.  You had only wanted to save yourself, save your father and now… now Norman was… a sob caught in your throat.

Wait…. Bendy had been looking at Norman’s head.

Almost like he could…

“YOU….” Bendy’s voice echoed, a faint hiss being heard in his throat.  “YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO.” A gloved hand reached out and seized the front of your shirt, pulling you towards the demon.  “BE GRATEFUL THAT I DO NOT KILL YOU NOW… HENRY’S DAUGHTER.”

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no….

Turns out the devil you knew, you didn’t know at all.


	14. The Thirst for Revenge - NSFW + Non-Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman is dead. The once the attacker turned protector, is dead at your feet. 
> 
> Dead by Bendy's hands.
> 
> And now, without anyone to save you, no weapons to assist you, it is just you and the Demon Lord.
> 
> And your pretty words will no longer work on the angry demon lord.
> 
> ***********  
> Thank you Saiyurimai for beta reading!

You whimpered softly, not daring to say another word. You could feel your legs come off the ground, dangling uselessly as Bendy pulled you off your feet, bringing you close to him. Close to those snarling, fanged teeth of his.  Too close, making you flinch and shiver. Norman’s body lay prone next to the demon, thick ink slowly dribbling out of what used to be his neck.

Your one hope… your first real hope since you had first started chasing your father down this goddamned studio…. Gone.

And it was all your fault.  If you hadn’t acted so irrationally, if you hadn’t screamed for Bendy… Norman… your father…

The sound of a low growl brought your attention back to your attacker.  Back to those teeth and mouth.  Slowly, memories began to resurface.  What he had done to you… to your body. You could feel Bendy’s hot breath rush across your skin, the stench of it nearly making you gag. It stank like warm tar and bad milk, sickening and heavy.  Despite the stench, you didn’t miss that terrified, cold, shiver that ran down your spine. You weighed next to nothing in his strong grip, as if you were nothing more than a rag doll under his control.

The demon snarled as he pulled you even closer, his eyes flaring blood-red once more, quickly flashing at you, flashing so bright that they could be seen under the thick inky covering, before the colour faded away. “What’s wrong, my little treat? Thinking about trying to use those sweet words against me again, or have you finally accepted your fate?” He hissed, the grip on you tightening. 

Your fingers scrabbled desperately against his fingers, trying to pry them off of you.  They slipped and scratched, to no avail.  You were stuck in his dark grip. “It doesn’t have to be like this! Just let me go and I swear I’ll explain everything to you!” You tried to escape again, but to no avail. Bendy wasn’t going to be letting you go any time soon. You had messed up.  Your one chance, your one, single chance, gone.  Blown.

Your father, he’d be so much better equipped for this situation than you were. He would be able to make Bendy see some sense, see that it had been the fault of those…those pigs. 

Bendy’s body was tense, unmoving, his blind eyes glaring at you under the ever-dripping cloak of ink, staring through you it seemed. Gone was the sickeningly playful demon, the happy-go-lucky attitude. Gone was the happy lord and master of his palace.  There was only thick waves of hatred rolling off of him, the hunter, the Punisher in its place. “How…how did you find me?” You asked, still pulling at his hand, his grip like iron. “How do you know about my father?”

Bendy contemplated answering you but in the end, the love of that he had for his voice out won desire to remain silent.  “The ink…you could say it gives me unique abilities. Letting me see through the ink.  Sammy, he compared me to some ‘marvellous’ character named Daredevil.  One who could see through the echo and waves of sound.”  Confusion fogged your mind.  What could he possibly mean by that….?  Mind numb and mouth agape, you stared up at him, staring at the range of colours hidden deep within his inky cloak.  At this moment, there was one thing that he knew. You truly had gambled all and lost.  If you hadn’t been so terrified you would have laughed.  Instead, you stared blankly up at him, silently praying that someone, anyone would come to save you.

You had a dreaded feeling that wasn’t going to be happening either.  Saving you was up to you.

Your silence angered Bendy, a snarl ripping through him as he shook you violently. Your head snapped back and forth violently as he shook you.  You feared that he would break your neck but, luckily or unluckily for you (you couldn’t decide), he stilled his movements again. His teeth were bared, twisted into an ugly snarl. “You still don’t understand? Perhaps I’ll need to spell it out for you, pet. You are absolutely covered in ink, every inch of you is lighting up like a goddamn Christmas tree!” He spat, “I can see every curve of your soft body, every strand of hair, every freckle on your skin.” The Ink Demon leaning down whispering in your ear, the overwhelming stench of ink wasn’t nearly enough to hide her horror. “I can see who you look like now.”

You froze in terror. People had always said you were the spitting image of your father, not looking at all like your mother. IF Bendy could see…

Then…

Oh shit…

Oh…Shit…

If Bendy was hunting down those he viewed as his creator his supposed wrongs he had suffered. Then…

Then…

At your revelation, the demon began to cackle. The sound was low and slow at first as if he was finding something truly amusing, growing into a high-pitched demonic laugh. You were yanked up towards him again, being held level with the great demon’s face. He smelled of ink and musk, like an old stained piece of paper. “Henry…the last of the creators who deserve my revenge for making me miserable existence.” He grit out, teeth gnashing together in complete anger. “My life has been a living hell for thirty years. Thirty.  Fucking! Years! And he just left! He left and got to live his life while we all rotted down here.  All alone!  The world may have moved on, but we haven’t!”

A single finger tangled itself into your hair before pulling, yanking down on it hard enough to make you wince, helping you find your voice again. “It wasn’t his fault! He didn’t want to leave! He didn’t want to wait so long to return-”

“Silence pet!” He spat, your eyes glued to the teeth that had long lost their cartoon quality, the rounded squares turned sharp and jagged like daggers. “I didn’t say you could speak. Henry is the last creator that has yet to taste my rage. Joey… no, Henry won’t be nearly as lucky as Joey was. No… Henry is going to pay, starting with you.”

Your mind spun, you had to talk him out of this. You needed to protect your father…or you would have to find some way to kill an ink demon.

“There was a time when I could see…” You jolted at his change of tone, almost solemn, he still didn’t let you go. “When I first came through the pits of hell, I could see through the eyes of the creator’s doodles. I could see, I could hear, everything they drew became a part of me making me into their image. I could feel every little thing they did to my animation.

“I could hear their plots, their planning, the glee in their voices as they planned out their abuse. Down to the minute detail, I could hear them plan where every hit of fists and feet would land, every snap of my bones, every drop of blood plotted out to the last frame. I heard every. Single. Word.” He growled through his words. “I knew that they’d summoned me for their own selfish needs, needing me to turn this disgusting, repulsive pit around. They cared nothing for me. Nothing! They only cared about their pitiful careers, their greed!” Bendy’s teeth grit together, a low growl rumbling through him. You didn’t dare say anything, not a peep. What the animators, the writers, and the rest of the crew had done was cruel, sadistic. Joey and Sammy had brought these creatures to life, using them for their own monetary gain. It was as if Bendy was a bullied child, a person pushed too far, forced to return the violence done unto him. Despite yourself, you could almost feel pity for Bendy.

Keyword. Almost.

“They didn’t treat me as the demon lord I was, the way I deserved to be treated. They used me! Me!  Used like a dirty plaything. They refused to worship me. They thought they could just play around with my needs, like one of their stupid dolls. I refused. I refused to be used for their entertainment. They thought they had me on a tight leash, that they could control me. But I am a being with infinite patience, I knew that I would have my opportunity for revenge before long. I severed the contract between us, biding my time before I struck the first blows. I would show them the true power of a demon, I would make them all pay.” Bendy snapped, pulling your hair slightly, his words filling you with fear making you shiver.

So…the reason that this had all happened…

It wasn’t your father’s fault at all. Your father, although not completely innocent, was not to blame.  Even though your father had left the studio, this was not his fault. The killings, the studio, Bendy…

Henry was simply caught in the crossfires of another’s plan.

It was Joey’s fault.

The satanic lord growled again, louder this time, a small drop of ink falling from his forehead to the ground below. It was deathly quiet in the Research room, the smallest drop of ink echoing through the room.

“So I did. I tracked every last one of them down. Every last one! That snivelling idiot Sammy was turned into my prophet, forcing him to respect me in death. Respect me the way that I deserved as punishment for the lack of disrespect that he showed me in life. As for Norman,” He glanced down at the inky lifeless body at his feet, the ink starting to dissolve, “He wasn’t just a projectionist.  He knew the ins and outs, all the curves and passageways if the studio.  I needed him to run the tapes of my escapades, to remind them all what I used to be. What they turned me into.” He paused then, a sinister chuckle bubbling up out of him.

“I could go on and on, I could tell you just how exactly I acted as judge, jury and executor in their punishments for their crimes against us. Made them forgive their own sins. But I grow weary of all this talk…I have something else in mind for your traitorous father…”

Icy, cold fear gripped tight in your chest. “Bendy, please, I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened to you, but kidnapping me isn’t the answer!” You tried again to release yourself from his grip but it was hopeless, he was too strong. “I-I can help you with your revenge. Joey is dead but you don’t need to kill Hen-“

“I’m afraid it is you that doesn’t understand.” He cut you off, “You see, I missed out on all the fun of killing Joey. The old man’s heart couldn’t take it when we sought our revenge. It gave out on him.  I suppose he is lucky, he gets to remain free, punishment-free, but your father, I will personally ensure he will suffer my wrath…

And you,” He spat, clenching tighter around what remains of your shirt, “you needn’t worry. You won’t die. Despite the sins of your father dirtying your blood, there is a much larger problem at stake. You have your own debt to pay to me. I saved you.” A long tongue escaped his maw and licked across your lips, causing you to whimper and shiver in dreaded fear.  No…you couldn’t bite back the whimper, your mind already poisoned with the thoughts of what he had done to you.  “But you give me a wonderful idea, daughter of Henry…Henry doesn’t need to die just yet for me to torture him. After all, what would hurt him more than making his precious little girl, mine?”  He cackled softly to you, his long tongue licking up your neck slowly.  “It would more than make up for Joey’s escapade.”

Trembling, you stared up at him in disbelief. Your body still hurt from his last assault. You doubted that you could handle a second round. No… Not again. Not again! You opened your mouth…

Only to be dropped to the ground. You gave a shriek as you landed hard on your ankle, your noises almost drowning out the sound of a delicate snap.

“I believe I told you to be silent, pet. But I have a very special way of silencing you.” His clawed fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you towards his crotch. Already his barbed member was erect and trembling slightly, a small drop of dark pre beading at the tip.

You couldn’t…! Those barbs would tear your throat apart! You tried to push back against his hips, only to have him snarl and pull you close again, his member smearing ink across your cheek. “Do not try my patience, pet. I’m already frustrated enough with you. If you wish to survive this little encounter, and perhaps extend your father’s life a little longer, I suggest you stop struggling and open wide. And relax your throat. You might find that the barbs tickle on their way down.”

Your father…

Before he could impale himself into your mouth, you gripped the base of his member hard, making the demon cry out. You looked up at him pleadingly. If you could move at your own pace and please him…  “Please Bendy. Let me…let me do this. You said that you wanted me to pay my debt…” Your hand slowly reached under him, cupping his balls. Quickly you licking up and down his member, coating him in your saliva, It was a form of lube at least. “Let me…” You looked up at him as you took the very tip into your mouth.


	15. Chapter Fifteen - Half-Time Show:  A Crooked Halo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice Angel sits on what counts for her throne, looking over her kingdom. However, the little plot of the studio that the Ink Demon has allowed her to have is no longer enough, and her mind begins to crack.
> 
> But when her minions bring her a present, will the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place? Or is this angel forced to fly with broken wings?

Alice Angel sat on her throne, silently overlooking her territory.  She had thought that the girl, Henry’s beloved daughter, would have made her way to her by now.  The girl had seemed desperate to find Boris and her father and yet, Alice had not seen hide nor hair of her since she had first stolen Boris away.  Perhaps the girl was already dead somewhere, lying face down in a puddle of ink or blood. Alice sighed at the thought, narrowing her one eye.  She hated when she had to search for her prey. It took all the fun out of being chased.

The angel decided that she would give her another hour or so before she would look for her again.  Her final showdown would be worth it all the while once the girl finally showed up. Her revenge would be complete.  Alice continued to look around her room, scouring the shadows for anything out of place or out of the ordinary.

There were few ink creatures that dared enter her area and even fewer escaped.  She had a deadly reputation and, as a result, few dared cross the angel out of fear that they trigger her wrath.  Those that preferred her over the Ink Demon knew that they must tread carefully, lest they become her latest experiment.  Her dress and gloves had long since been stained with ink and gore, dust and dirt, she was no longer the young darling that had once sprung from the ink machine.  She was no longer the angel that captured hearts with her voice and certainly not with her face.  The ink demon had seen to that.  His claws had sliced her face like paper, permanently scarring her.

Leaving her as his reminder as those who dared cross Him.

Carefully she lifted the axe that rested beside her to face-level, staring deep within it. Grimacing, she stared at her reflection.  It was as unchanged as always. Her right eye was gone, the socket torn and cracked.  The skin around her mouth had been sloppily ripped away, giving the appearance of having been melted from her body.  Only thin scraps of flesh remained, tethering her cheek to her chin below.

She was no Alice Angel.  She was a nightmare…

Giving a loud sigh, she dropped the axe, letting it fall to the ground with a loud thunk.  A few of the ink monsters that were loyal to her paused in their doings, staring up at her with a mixture of fear and respect.  All wondering what she would ask them to do.

Alice said nothing to the minions, allowing them to go on their merry way.  She barely spoke to them above what was absolutely necessary.  They were nothing but secondary characters, weaklings.  They were nothing in comparison to the greatest angel.

And yet… wasn’t she considered one as well?

Brushing the thoughts from her mind, Alice immediately returned her gaze to her domain, Important plans for herself.  Alice may not have been the star of the show but she was one of the main characters.  One that had shown promise of getting her own spin-off series, one to explain her history and background story.  The people would have adored her then.  She was a strong character, she just needed the right environment to take off.  Without that irritating dancing demon to clog her spotlight, she could have shone like the brightest star. 

Yes, everyone would have loved her.  She could see it now, all crystal clear within her head.  It would be her merchandise that would be flying off the shelves, every little girl and boy wanting an Alice Angel doll of their own.  She could do a cooking show, teaching the fundamentals of healthy cooking and how to cook anything other than bacon soup.  There would be movie roles and fashion lines, makeup and fragrances, all tripping over them to have her endorse them.

She would have been perfect.  After all, she was Alice Angel, she would accept nothing less than perfection, especially from herself.  But then the world had changed, leaving her and the rest of the crew behind.  Henry had left the studio, never to return and then Bendy had attacked her…

They had destroyed everything that she had worked for.

No, Alice grit her teeth, her fingers clenching into fists.  Her revenge against the last creator was within her grasp.  There was one last loose end that she needed to tie up but then, then she would be able to live her life in peace.  Harvesting the ink creatures for their various parts and using them to rebuild herself.

She would be beautiful again.

She would be Alice Angel again.

She would be THE Alice Angel again.  The one and only, the angel from above…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rusty, clanking metal.  Looking up, she glared at one of the Murder or the Butcher gang members who dared get too close to her.  She never found it within her to remember their names, they were all too different from the “final” drawn versions of them anyways that she felt like it didn’t matter.

“What is it that you want?” she spat, angry at being approached so easily, without any submission.  He better have a good reason to do so.  If he didn’t, his inky heart could be used in her next concoction, used to make her herself again.   She glared at him, daring him to continue.

He lowered his face, worried and fretting at something before he chittered again.  The words were slurred and cut off, the many years of silence having rusted his jaw and the remains of his vocal cords.

Frowning, Alice struggled to understand his words.  “You know that I don’t understand it when you speak like that.  Try it again.”

Shaking his head, the little creature grabbed something off the stairs, holding it up to her to see.

It was an old projection machine, one that slowly dripped black ink.

Could it be?

“Bring it to me.” she snapped, gesturing him forward towards her.

The man almost tripped over himself in his haste to give it to her but, finally, she had it in her hands. The first thing that she realized was that the machine was dented and scratched in several areas. This wasn’t a machine that had been pulled from the floor of the shop. Ink still dripped from a thick tube that was connected to the machine.  It smelled horrid, like a mix of old, rotting milk.  Carefully, gingerly, Alice lifted the machine closer to her face, examining it closer.  There were no reels in this machine, no light bulb to project the images to the screen. 

It was as she expected.

Or rather, who she expected it to be.

“Oh, poor Norman,” she cooed softly to it.  “Seems like Bendy finally tired of you creeping around the place, hiding in your little corners like you owned the place.”  She chuckled again before placing the Projection’s head on the table beside her.  Right where everyone could see if they looked up at her. Good to know that she wasn’t the only one that the Ink Demon made an example out of. 

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands. The Projectionist had long been a thorn in her side, always creeping around hallways and corners.  He had been a gossip, peering into other’s personal lives without a care in the world.

Yet, something didn’t feel right about this.

Bendy had allowed the Projectionist to live as long as he did, why kill him now?  It didn’t make sense to Alice.  He had been the one to sentence the original creators to their sentence of living death.  For them to take on their new forms and serve the ink creatures as they required.  For him to kill Norman now before his sentence was completed…

That was unlike the Ink Demon.  Very much out of character for the monster.

Had he simply taken pity on the Projectionist?  Killed him to free him from this prison?

She was missing something.

“You.  Where did you find this?” she demanded the member.  Her single eye flashed at him, silently warning him not to waste her time.

The ink creature lumbered over to the map on the wall and pointed to an area.

The carousel room.  Where Bertrum had once been sealed.

“Hm… that isn’t your territory, Norman,” she muttered, turning to look at the severed head.  “What, on my green earth, are you doing all the way over there?”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a kudos and comment with what you guys think!


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